


Lead The Way From All Is Lost

by somehowunbroken



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: M/M, Rape, Rape Recovery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-31
Updated: 2010-10-31
Packaged: 2017-10-29 22:38:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/324941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somehowunbroken/pseuds/somehowunbroken
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'Cam isn’t sure what he’s expecting to see when he walks into the General’s office, but he knows for damn sure that it’s not a man, dressed in base uniform, slouching in a chair with his arms crossed behind his head, staring unconcernedly at the ceiling while General Landry does his best to glare a hole straight through him.' AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lead The Way From All Is Lost

**Author's Note:**

> This story contains noncon and rape recovery. Please choose to read or not read with your own self-care in mind. If you need more information about the fic before making a decision, please don't hesitate to PM me on Livejournal or Dreamwidth at the same name.
> 
> Original warnings are for **non-con, dub-con, abuse, and graphic sex.**

Cam isn’t sure what he’s expecting to see when he walks into the General’s office, but he knows for damn sure that it’s not a man, dressed in base uniform, slouching in a chair with his arms crossed behind his head, staring unconcernedly at the ceiling while General Landry does his best to glare a hole straight through him.

“General,” Cam says, saluting sharply, as is his habit. Landry salutes back, just as crisply, and Cam does a pretty good job of not acting surprised at that. It’s not Landry’s way, not usually. He supposes it has something to do with the man in the chair.

“Colonel Mitchell, I’d like to introduce you to Major John Sheppard,” Landry says, waving his hand at the reclining man. Cam turns, expecting a nod or a wave or an acknowledgement of some sort, but he gets nothing. Sheppard acts like he doesn’t know there’s anyone else in the room with him.

“Pleased,” Cam tries, and Sheppard’s eyes flick to him once, a quick up-and-down, before he finally meets Cam’s eyes with a look that can only be described as full of loathing. Cam blinks, because he’s never met the man before, so he’s not quite sure he deserves that. He turns to Landry.

“Major Sheppard is your new Assignment,” Landry informs him, and Sheppard shifts, bringing his arms down to rest lazily against the arms of the chair, lacing his fingers together over his stomach. The motion brings the collar of his uniform jacket down, and it’s the first time Cam sees the collar, and oh, it all falls into place.

Because the collar means that Sheppard’s fucked something up. Royally. He’s done something so off-the-map that he’s been sent to Disciplinary, and Disciplinary put him through the wringer and spat him out. He’s been assigned to Training.

He’s been assigned to _him_ , Cam suddenly realizes with a widening of his eyes. Cam is, technically, a Trainer, though he’s never actually used his skills. Training is a pretty rare punishment, so even though there aren’t that many Trainers around, it’s not that surprising that Cam’s gotten to his age and position without being called into service. And for someone to get Assigned to Cam’s level of Training…

It all goes through Cam’s head in a matter of seconds, so it’s not actually that long before he nods and says, “Yes, sir,” in the voice that got him to this position in the first place, the voice that got him selected to be a Trainer so long ago, the voice that promises _I’ll do it, sir, no matter what_.

He surveys Sheppard again with a critical eye, that of a Trainer, noting the obvious things that they’re going to have to work on. Posture, respect for the uniform, that looks like a huge issue. Clearly respect for superiors is another problem. Something will have to be done about that hair, too. And this is all small stuff, will all be secondary to whatever the problem is, whatever it was that had gotten him sent to Disciplinary in the first place, because that’s all slap-on-the-wrist stuff. Quick observation finished, Cam nods at Landry again, then at Sheppard. “Let’s go, then.”

Landry hands him a thick file that Cam knows will contain all of the information pertinent to Sheppard’s Disciplinary Hearing. There’s quite a lot of intel in it, and it’s going to take some time to go through the whole thing. Cam walks to the door and waits, but Sheppard doesn’t stand, doesn’t follow. Cam turns back. “Sheppard.”

Sheppard tilts back in the chair, turning slightly in the seat to only sort-of look at Cam. ”Yeah?” he drawls, a slow, lazy voice to go along with the rest of his appearance. Somehow, Cam isn’t surprised, neither at the voice nor the impertinence of his response.

“With me,” he orders. Sheppard raises one eyebrow, and Cam opens the file folder in front of him, reaching for the small device he knows will be tucked right into the front. It’s small, about the thickness of a credit card but only about half the size, and it’s translucent. There are two glowing spots on it, one green and one orange, each slightly smaller than a dime. He waves it in Sheppard’s general direction, and the man narrows his eyes.

“I’m assuming they told you at Disciplinary what this is,” he says softly. Sheppard nods once, jerkily. Cam continues. “And I’m assuming they gave you a demonstration.” Sheppard doesn’t answer, but he’s staring at the remote in Cam’s hand. Slowly, he stands from the chair and walks to Cam’s side, eyes never leaving the remote.

“I don’t want to use this,” Cam says quietly, putting the remote into his pocket, where it will stay for the rest of the Assignment. It’s protocol that Cam has it on him at all times. “There’s no way you believe me right now, so I’m not going to press the issue, Sheppard, but I hope to God I don’t have to use it.”

“Sure,” Sheppard manages. “So do I.” He sounds a little panicky, though he’s managed to tear his eyes away from the pocket that holds the remote. “After you, then.”

“Sir,” Cam adds, and Sheppard’s eyes focus on his face. A sour look crosses the man’s face.

“After you, _sir_ ,” he says, and Cam can tell he’s only barely holding back a sarcastic comment.

Cam sighs. This is going to be a long, difficult Assignment.

They walk back to Cam’s quarters in silence. As Sheppard’s Trainer, it’s Cam’s prerogative to decide everything for the man until the Assignment is over – where he goes, what he does, even where he sleeps and what he eats. For now, Cam thinks it’s probably a good idea to keep the man close. It’s often that way with Trainees.

They stop outside Cam’s door, and Cam turns to face Sheppard. “You’ll be staying with me,” he says, and thinks that Sheppard does a damn good job of not reacting at all to the statement. “I’ll get a cot sent in this afternoon.”

“A cot,” Sheppard murmurs. “One of the lumpy ones, I’m sure.”

“You can sleep on the floor.” Cam shrugs. “I don’t really care at the moment, Sheppard.”

Sheppard doesn’t say anything else, and Cam makes a mental note to request one of the better cots, maybe one of the spares from the Infirmary. Catching more flies with honey, and all that.

They enter Cam’s quarters together and Cam immediately crosses to the desk there, opening the top drawer and placing the file inside. He closes the drawer and very carefully doesn’t lock it, stepping away from the desk and looking at Sheppard. The man has been standing just inside the door, watching Cam’s every move.

“You will not go in that drawer,” he orders quietly. Sheppard narrows his eyes a little but nods. Cam shakes his head. “When I give you an order, you respond with ‘yes, sir’ or ‘no, sir.’”

“Is this a ‘yes, sir’ or a ‘no, sir’ situation?” Sheppard asks, and Cam slips the remote from his pocket. Sheppard doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, but he doesn’t stare at the remote, either. Cam gives him points for bravery, but deducts them back for stupidity. He hovers his finger above the green button but doesn’t press down.

It’s a tense moment. Cam doesn’t want to press the button, and he’s trying to make that abundantly clear to Sheppard. Sheppard, for his part, doesn’t flinch in the slightest, though his face pales a little.

“Sheppard,” Cam says evenly. “I seriously do not want to use this. Not now, not ever. It’s not my style, and I’m willing to bet it’s not yours.”

Sheppard shakes his head. “No, sir.” It’s brisk and even, but Cam can hear the hatred and nervousness mixed behind the polite-on-the-surface tone. It’s fine. He’s expecting it.

Cam points to the couch in the sitting area of his quarters. “Go, sit, flip through a magazine or something. Occupy your time. I’ve got some reading to do.”

Sheppard’s mouth twists as Cam retrieves the folder, but he bites out a sarcastic “Yes, sir” as he flops onto the couch and opens an old copy of _Sports Illustrated_ that Cam doesn’t remember purchasing. Cam sighs and opens the file, starting at the top of the first page. He doesn’t try to scan through the text, instead reading every word; all of the information in this file will be pertinent. Disciplinary made this file just for Sheppard’s Trainer.

It takes Cam the better part of three hours, during which Sheppard makes no sound. He’s on a different copy of _SI_ each time Cam glances up at him, and by the time he’s done, Sheppard is reading about last year’s Final Four matchups. Sheppard seems to sense that Cam’s done and lowers the magazine. He taps it with one finger.

“King had it all wrong, didn’t he?” Sheppard shakes his head. “Wrong picks, wrong scores, wrong everything.”

“Hindsight’s twenty-twenty, Sheppard,” Cam says, tapping the papers in his hand, and Sheppard winces. Point taken.

Cam puts the folder back into the drawer, again skipping the lock. He folds his arms over his chest as he recalls the information in the file and surveys the man before him.

There are several different methods of Training, and each Trainer chooses a specialty during their schooling. Most become First or Second Trainers, learning to deal with Trainees with either friendship and coddling or military efficiency. Some choose to become Third Trainers, honing violence to a sharp point. Few choose the Fourth path for several reasons, not the least of which are attachment issues and the somewhat hazy ethical boundaries. Cam is one of only three Fourth Trainers right now.

That’s why Sheppard is here.

“So,” the man in question begins, frustratingly sprawled across Cam’s couch as if he hasn’t a care in the world, as if he’s here because he wants to be, as if the collar around his neck is a fashion accessory. “What’s the verdict?”

Cam reaches forward to rummage through the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out three things. He tosses the first to Sheppard. “This is a base identification,” he says. “It’ll open the door to this room.”

“That’s all?” Sheppard frowns at the piece of plastic.

“It doesn’t matter,” Cam shrugs. “You’re not leaving here any time soon.” Sheppard raises an eyebrow, but he’s still sitting, still smirking. Cam picks up the second item and strides over to Sheppard, reaching down and setting it with a click into the slot on the side of Sheppard’s collar. “That will let me know where you are at all times.”

“Tracking device,” Sheppard mutters. “Brilliant.”

Cam nods. That had probably also been explained to Sheppard, that his Trainer would have a way to keep tabs on him at all times. The other piece of that device is the third item from the drawer, and Cam picks it up from the desk now, clipping it to his ID badge. He’ll program it later to alert him if Sheppard tries to leave his quarters without Cam’s permission. Now, though, he sits down on the other end of the couch and evaluates Sheppard again. Sheppard waits him out, watching Cam watching him, until Cam finally speaks. “Tell me what happened.”

“You read the file,” Sheppard points out. Cam doesn’t reach for the remote, but he gives Sheppard a look, and he rephrases. “You already know. Sir.”

“I’d like to hear your side of things,” Cam tells him, and it’s true. He knows how Disciplinary works, and he knows how facts can get skewed through the process, especially if the military is looking for someone to blame. He’s seen enough Hearings to know that some Trainings are more deserved than others, and he wants to know where on the scale Sheppard fits.

Sheppard narrows his eyes, but he recounts the events with an almost clinical detachment. There’s nothing there to indicate that he isn’t telling the truth, or at least what he believes to be the truth; he stares straight forward the entire time, looking through the small coffee table as if it’s a screen playing the events for him and he’s just narrating what he sees to Cam. Cam thinks it’s probably pretty close to what’s going on.

When Sheppard finishes, he slowly lifts his eyes from the table to Cam’s face. Cam is trying his hardest not to show anything, to give nothing away. He needs time to think, to reflect, so he just nods at Sheppard and digs two chips out of his pocket and tosses them over. Sheppard catches them reflexively.

“Go get us some food,” Cam tells him. “Mess hall is down the elevator, floor 17, to the right. I’d recommend against the Salisbury steak, but anything else is fair game.” He nods to the chips he’d tossed over. “Those’ll buy our lunch. Bring it back here.”

Sheppard rises and walks to the door, but stops before he crosses the threshold. “Yes, sir,” he grinds out, and Cam can see that it’s almost killing him to do so, but he shuts the door behind him quickly, and Cam can hear him moving down the hall to the elevator.

Cam programs the receiver while Sheppard’s out, thinking about what he’d read and what he’d heard. The basic details of the stories are the same: Afghanistan, a downed chopper, some shitty orders, Sheppard disobeying. The problem, however, is in the specifics; the orders had been faulty, and Cam couldn’t say for certain that he wouldn’t have done the same as Sheppard, ignored what he was supposed to do and gone back for those left behind. However, if it had been Cam in Sheppard’s shoes, there would have been no Hearing, just a light slap on the wrist and a roll of the eyes. Sheppard, however, was no CO’s favorite, and had probably been shipped off to Disciplinary as a way of getting him out of his current chain of command.

Cam is still absently playing with his ID card when Sheppard returns, laden with food trays. He sets them on the table and slumps back into the couch. Cam sighs. Time for the first lesson.

“Ask permission,” he says, reaching out to grab Sheppard’s wrist. “I’m a superior officer, and therefore you’re pretty much here to do what I say. You walk in, you stand at attention until I tell you otherwise, and if I don’t give you explicit instructions, you ask for them.” Cam waits, his hand still on Sheppard’s wrist, watching as the torrent of emotions flash across Sheppard’s features.

“Yes, sir,” Sheppard says a moment later. “Can I have my wrist back, sir?”

Cam leans back. “Which one is mine?” Sheppard points to one of the trays, and Cam sighs, wondering if Sheppard’s being obstinate or if this is just how the man is. Either way, it’s going to change. “Sheppard.”

The man visibly grits his teeth. “That one, sir.”

Cam nods and grabs the tray, gesturing towards the other. “Eat.”

Sheppard grabs his tray and sets it on his legs. Just as Cam’s about to say something – again – Sheppard glances up at him. “Yes, sir.”

Things progress like this for a while – Cam giving directions, waiting for Sheppard’s response, Sheppard waiting to the absolute limit of his boundaries for the proper response before doing what’s he expected to do. It’s frustrating, and though Cam is still mulling over the accounts of Sheppard’s Disciplinary hearing, he can clearly see why the man has been viewed as such a tribulation.

The cot is delivered by 1500; Cam has Sheppard make it up and push it against one of the walls in Cam’s room. Dinner is a repeat of lunch, complete with instructions, disobedience, and reprimand. When their trays are both empty, Cam sets his on the table and turns to Sheppard.

“What questions do you have for me?” he asks. “Permission to speak freely.”

Sheppard hesitates. “You’re not a First Trainer, and you’re not a Third.” He seems to be sizing Cam up. “Two options.”

Cam nods. There wasn’t a question in there, at least not directly, so he waits. Sheppard narrows his eyes.

“Second or Fourth?” he asks, almost challengingly, and Cam gives him a small smile.

“What do you think?” he asks instead of answering.

Sheppard snorts. “I’d say a First,” he shoots back, the challenge more evident this time, “but they don’t get the remotes. And you’re not a Third, because I honestly can’t see you beating the shit out of me.” He pauses. “So I have two choices. I know which I’d prefer, and I know which is more likely.”

Cam is instantly more aware of the situation. “I’ll have you know that I’m perfectly capable of beating the shit out of you,” he drawls, and Sheppard’s eyes flick to his arms, unimpressed. Cam isn’t bothered by it. “And I’m assuming what you’d _prefer_ and what you’re expecting are different.”

“You assume correctly,” Sheppard drawls right back. “There are, what, two Fourth Trainers right now?”

Cam just leans back and smirks a little, waiting until realization dawns across Sheppard’s face. “Holy shit, you can’t be serious.”

“Three, actually,” Cam corrects mildly. “Arrington works out of the DC area, and Lenning’s somewhere in Oregon, I think.”

“You’re a Fourth?” Sheppard asks.

“I am,” Cam confirms. “Your lucky damn day.”

Sheppard slumps back against the couch, bravado cracking. “I’m – this isn’t – I don’t think I can handle this.”

“That’s kind of the point,” Cam replies reasonably. “Disciplinary sent you to the Trainer they thought would work best for you.”

Sheppard looks back at him bleakly. “This isn’t going to end well.”

“Sure it is,” Cam says agreeably as he stands. “Weren’t you just telling me this is what you’d prefer?”

“My big damn mouth,” Sheppard replies, voice still distant. He rises to follow Cam, though, and Cam notes that Sheppard is more likely to do what he’s supposed to do – currently, stay near Cam at all times – when he’s distracted. “Seriously. This – it’s going to be bad. Very bad.”

Cam hears the tremor this time and stops walking. “You were attacked.” It’s not a question, but Sheppard’s face goes red in answer anyway. “Was he caught?”

Sheppard barks out a laugh, the sound harsh. “They gave him a fucking medal.”

Cam blinks, dissects the statement, and gestures for Sheppard to sit on his cot. Sheppard does so and stares straight ahead without saying anything. Cam’s only known the man for a handful of hours, and he can already tell that this isn’t a good sign. He sits beside Sheppard, close enough to touch but keeping a careful bit of distance between them.

“What happened, Sheppard?” he asks, but Sheppard shakes his head, lips pressed in a thin line. Cam risks slowly taking him by the elbow. “John.”

That gets a reaction; Sheppard’s eyes widen and he violently jerks away. “Please don’t do that.”

“Grab you, or use your first name?” Why isn’t this in Sheppard’s file? Who the fuck would assign him for Fourth with this kind of history?

Sheppard’s breathing is strained. “Either. Both.” He hesitates. “Especially my name.”

Cam nods and processes for a moment. “Correct me if I’m wrong.” He waits until Sheppard nods. “Someone attacked you. A man.” Sheppard nods. “A superior officer.” There’s a pause, another nod. “Did he rape you?”

Sheppard is staring straight ahead. Every bit of him that Cam can see is red, and his hands are twisting in his BDU pants, trying not to tremble. “Sheppard.” He tries to keep his tone as gentle as he can while still commanding authority.

“Yes,” Sheppard grits out. That one word is so full of humiliation and pain and regret and shame and a million other things that it seems to fill the room.

Cam nods and stands, walking deliberately in Sheppard’s field of vision to sit on his own bed. Sheppard relaxes more with each step Cam takes away from him.

“I’ll give a call to Disciplinary, see if I can get you reassigned,” Cam tells him. There’s no way Sheppard can handle this kind of Training, none at all, and he’s got a few choice words for the Assignment Committee, that’s for damn sure.

Sheppard seems to slump into his cot at the words. “You will?” His voice cracks a little in relief.

“Yeah,” Cam assures him. “Stay here, lay down, breathe. I’ll be back.”

He’s on the phone with an annoyingly pleasant woman in less than three minutes who assures him that there’s no record of any assault in Major Sheppard’s file, and is he sure that the Major isn’t lying to him, trying to play for sympathy? Cam only just bites down the urge to rip the woman to shreds through the phone, instead asking to speak to the chair of Assignments.

His call is picked up almost immediately. “Dobbs.”

“General, this is Colonel Cameron Mitchell,” Cam says, rattling off his identification code and the pertinent information. “I’m requesting immediate reassignment for Major Sheppard.”

“Denied,” the General says easily, and Cam feels his jaw drop open. “He’s lying to you, Colonel. There’s no record of anything like this on his record.”

“With all due respect, sir, he’s not lying to me.” Part of learning to be a Trainer is figuring out how to discern between lies and truth. Cam’s pretty damn good at it.

“Of course he is,” the General retorts mildly. “Look, Colonel, he’s your Assignment. If you feel that, for whatever reason, you will be unable-”

“Don’t quote the Code at me,” Cam snaps, incensed. “If you won’t reassign him to a First or Second, then I’ll keep him.”

The Code is the informal name for the oath taken by all of the Trainers. If Cam doesn’t think he can handle Sheppard, he’ll be passed along to one of the other Trainers on his level. It’s not that he can’t handle Sheppard, though, it’s that Sheppard can’t handle Cam, and Cam knows Arrington and Lenning well enough to know that they won’t investigate Sheppard’s reluctance, his terror, his eventual breakdown. It looks like Cam is Sheppard’s only shot at getting back to a semblance of a normal life.

“Very well,” the General says to him. “You have a nice day, now.”

Cam slams the phone back into its cradle before stalking back to his quarters, swearing. He stops outside his door, taking a deep breath. Storming in hopping mad isn’t going to help Sheppard trust him, and that, Cam decides, is what he needs to work on first. He needs Sheppard to trust him for this to work. He suspects that Sheppard needs someone he can trust, too.

“Sheppard,” Cam calls as he walks into his quarters. There’s no answer, and Cam grabs at his ID card, checking the locator tag, but Sheppard hasn’t left. Cam enters his bedroom, only to find Sheppard curled on his cot, back pressed into the wall, arms wrapped around his middle. His knees are drawn towards his chest and he’s fast asleep.

Cam debates about whether or not to wake Sheppard before deciding to leave. He exits as quietly as he can, but as he’s shutting the door, he hears Sheppard’s voice. “Let me guess.”

Cam exhales and leans on the doorframe. “I’m sorry, Sheppard. I tried.”

“I’m not really surprised,” Sheppard says dully, and yeah, he doesn’t sound like he is. “I got the feeling that the Assignment Committee wasn’t too fond of me. The head guy wouldn’t even come to the Hearing. It was like he’d already decided before he even met me.”

“Yeah?” It’s happened before, the Committee deciding that they were going to punish a Trainee for one reason or another. It’s kind of a screwed up system, not that Cam likes to think too hard about that, being a part of said system and all.

“Yeah,” Sheppard responds tiredly. “Do you mind if I just sleep? Sir,” he adds, and Cam has to bite his lip to protest Sheppard’s sudden willingness to adhere to some form of protocol.

“Go ahead,” Cam tells him, shutting the door and walking the few steps to the couch. He drops down on it and sighs, rising almost immediately to retrieve Sheppard’s file from his desk before sitting again. The rest of the evening is spent reviewing the file, contrasting it with what Sheppard has told him, factoring in what he’s learned about the man’s past. There’s a breaking point about two years ago, he notices, when things really start to go sideways, and he makes a note to look into Sheppard’s history a little more thoroughly, to see if he can maybe piece together what had happened.

Sheppard wakes again when Cam enters the room. “Go back to sleep,” Cam says quietly. “I’m hopping in bed.”

Sheppard nods, barely visible in the shadows, and his eyes track Cam’s every movement as he pulls pajamas from his dresser and heads into the bathroom. He emerges a few minutes later, changed and ready for bed. “You gonna be okay?”

Sheppard hesitates. “Yeah.”

Cam doesn’t believe it, but he lets Sheppard have the lie as he turns over, deliberately putting his back to the other man. He’s asleep before much longer.

The noises startle him awake no more than an hour later. Sheppard’s not moving, not thrashing, but his face is pressed into his elbow, and he’s – moaning is the wrong word, but he’s not screaming, not yelling. Cam swings his legs over the side of the bed and hesitates, debating.

“Sheppard,” he tries, then again, louder. “Sheppard.”

Sheppard breaks off mid-sound, but his face presses more closely into his elbow. Cam stands and walks to Sheppard’s bedside, reaching out to gently touch his shoulder. “Sheppard.”

Sheppard gasps awake, throwing his head back and staring up at Cam. His eyes are a mixture of hurt and revulsion and resignation, and he slowly turns onto his stomach, reaching for his waistband with shaking hands.

“Jesus, Sheppard – no, stop – what the hell…” And realization blinks on like a light bulb in Cam’s head. Of course that’s what he’s going to think, being woken in the middle of the night by a superior officer, by a Fourth Trainer, of all people. He takes Sheppard’s wrists as gently as he can. “Sheppard. Look at me.”

Sheppard’s face stays resolutely buried in the pillow. His hands are shaking even worse now than they had been a moment ago.

Cam sits beside Sheppard on the bed and sighs. “Sheppard.”

“Just do it,” Sheppard rasps out, like he just wants it to be done and over, like he’s five seconds from breaking.

“Sheppard,” Cam repeats gently. “Look at me.”

Slowly, Sheppard turns on his side, curling his knees up towards his chest. His arms have returned to their place around his chest, holding so tightly that Cam wonders if he’s trying to keep Cam away or keep himself from falling to pieces. He figures it’s probably a bit of both.

“I’m not going to rape you,” Cam says, low and level. “Not now, not tonight. Not later. Not ever.”

“That’s your job, sir,” Sheppard says, and it’s blankness forced over terror, matter-of-fact staving off panic. “It’s why I’m here.”

Cam ignores the twist in his gut because it’s technically true, even if that’s not how it’s billed, not how it usually plays out. “My job is to get you fit for duty again. There’s more than one way to do that, Major.”

Sheppard reacts like he’s been electrocuted, jerking back into the wall and breathing quickly. Cam wants to smack himself. Of course his rank would be a trigger here.

“Look, Sheppard,” he says calmly. “Part of being what I am means I know about this kind of stuff, okay? Forcing myself on you isn’t going to help anything. It’s only going to make things worse.”

Sheppard is still pressing himself into the wall. His eyes are squeezed shut, and his breathing is carefully too even, like he’s trying to get it under control. Cam waits until Sheppard forces his eyes open.

“Things can’t get much worse,” Sheppard tries. “I’m pretty fucked up.”

“Things could get a lot worse,” Cam contradicts, but doesn’t elaborate. “They’re not going to, though.”

Sheppard laughs again, that same bitter sound from earlier in the day. “The stupidest part about this whole situation is that I actually believe you.”

“Good,” Cam says, rising from the cot. “I’m going to sleep on the couch the rest of the night.”

Sheppard rises halfway. “Don’t,” and his voice is scratchy, somewhere between begging and terrified. “Just – I’ll be fine.”

Cam slowly sits back down. “Tell me what you need right now.”

“I don’t know,” Sheppard says. “I just – I don’t know.”

“Okay,” Cam replies simply. “I’ll sit here, okay? Until you need me to move.”

Sheppard nods, his eyes flicking around the room. He glances once more at Cam before shutting his eyes and faking sleep.

Cam can tell he’s not actually asleep but lets him pretend anyway, closing his own eyes and leaning against the wall. Sheppard’s eyes snap open for a split-second, taking in the change, before sliding shut again.

Sheppard eventually drifts off to sleep, but Cam stays awake the rest of the night, thinking and observing.

Sheppard’s a tall guy, but he curls into himself while he sleeps, making him look much younger, more frail. Cam suspects that it’s a defense mechanism of sorts, keeping him in a position from which he could easily protect himself should someone attack him. It’s just as telling as the rest of what he’s learned about Sheppard, and Cam wonders exactly how broken this man is. Helping him is going to take a long time, and Cam makes lists in his head while Sheppard sleeps.

Sheppard shifts and his legs uncurl a little, and Cam feels Sheppard’s feet touch his leg through the blankets. Cam stays still and Sheppard relaxes a little further, the lines smoothing around his eyes, his breathing deep and even.

He doesn’t wake again until 0700, when Cam stretches and stands from the bed. Sheppard’s eyes blink open, and he focuses on Cam, who’s walking to retrieve a change of clothing from the dresser. “Did you sit on the end of the bed all night?”

“I told you I would.”

Sheppard half-sits. “Did you sleep?”

“No.” Cam hopes that Sheppard’s clothing has been delivered. It should have been, by now, but they didn’t ring the chimes to bring it in, so it might just be in the hall. “I’m going to catch a shower. Check outside the door, see if they brought your things by.”

“Sure,” Sheppard yawns, before his eyes unfocus and cloud over. “Yes, sir,” he corrects himself. Cam stops in the doorway to the bathroom.

“Okay, change of plans,” he says, and Sheppard looks at him. “Cut that out.”

Sheppard raises an eyebrow. “Cut what out?”

“We’re not standing on ceremony in private,” Cam decides. “Call me Mitchell. Or Cam.”

Sheppard stares. “Why?” he asks bluntly.

Cam tosses his clothing onto the counter and walks back into the bedroom, sitting on his own bed. “Look, Sheppard, I know you don’t trust me, but I’m here to help you. You’re clearly not the stands-on-ceremony type, so if it’s going to make you more comfortable, we’re chucking it out the window.”

“So you’re, what, my therapist now?” Sheppard’s giving him a guarded look, but he doesn’t appear to be overly distrustful. Just… cautious, and Cam supposes that’s a good thing. He shrugs in response.

“Close enough to,” he tells Sheppard.

Sheppard nods slowly. “I do.”

Cam blinks at him for a moment, but Sheppard’s eyes are fixed somewhere near the ceiling, and Cam can’t for the life of him figure out what he means. “Um,” he says eloquently. “Is that a good thing?”

Sheppard’s mouth tilts up a little at one corner, like he can only convince half of his mouth to be happy, and his eyes snap to Cam’s. “Trust you.”

“Oh,” Cam responds, because he doesn’t have a clue what he’s supposed to say to that. “Good, then.”

“I don’t know why,” Sheppard continues. “I know, logically, why I was sent here and what you’re supposed to be doing, but for some damn reason, I believe it when you tell me you won’t.” His voice gets quieter as he speaks.

“Good,” Cam repeats, rising from the bed and heading for the bathroom again. “That’s a start.”

He showers quickly, and when he exits the bathroom Sheppard goes in. Cam gets one of the Marines posted at the end of the hallway to bring some food up, and by the time Sheppard appears in the living area, there are two trays laden with an assortment of breakfast foods on the coffee table.

“You expecting company?” Sheppard drawls, looking like he wants to hesitate before dropping into a seat without asking. It’s odd, Cam thinks, that when he’s supposed to ask he refuses, but when he’s given blanket permission he hesitates instinctively.

“No, but I did make the mistake of asking a Marine to grab breakfast,” Cam replies with a grin. Sheppard gives him that little half-smile again, but there’s a spark of amusement in his eyes.

They eat in relative silence, conversation no more involved than asking for more bacon or to please pass the orange juice, and when they finish, Cam gets the Marine to take the trays back to the mess. The young man looks curiously at Sheppard until he catches the heat of Cam’s pointed glare and hurries out.

“He thinks you should be making me do that,” Sheppard observes.

Cam just nods. There’s no point in denying the truth.

Sheppard sighs. “He’s right, too.”

“I’m more than willing to let you get the food from now on,” Cam counters, “if you’re that eager to do it.”

Sheppard shoots him a glare, then seems to catch himself. Cam rolls his eyes. “I mean it, Sheppard. Give it a rest.” Cam hesitates. “Pretend I’m just another buddy of yours, and we’re hanging out in the barracks in that sandy little hellhole you were in.”

Sheppard actually snorts. “It wasn’t sandy, I didn’t live in the barracks, and I’ve never been much for hanging out with buddies.”

Cam gives up. “Then do whatever you want,” he says. “Come on. We’re going to talk to the General.”

Sheppard immediately clams up, almost physically drawing back into himself. “General Landry,” he recalls. “He didn’t like me.”

“You didn’t like him either,” Cam points out mildly. “And he may be one of the most laid-back commanding officers in the game, but even he draws the line when you look like you’re about to kick your feet back onto the desk.”

“I’d never,” Sheppard gasps dramatically, all mock-outrage to cover the fact that he’s curled his hands into fists against his thighs. He wasn’t this tense yesterday, Cam thinks, but then again, maybe he was. Maybe the laziness is, at least in part, just a cover for Sheppard, a defensive shield. Terror masked as incompetence or disrespect.

“Come on,” Cam repeats, standing. Sheppard rises slowly but follows him obediently down the hallway to the elevator. Cam can almost see the difference slide over Sheppard as they descend, the nervousness draining, the slouch intensifying, and by the time they reach Level 27, Sheppard’s back to the insolent fuckup that he appeared to be when Cam met him.

Cam sighs but doesn’t push it. If it’s going to help Sheppard get through the meeting, he’ll take it.

“General,” Cam says as he walks in, saluting. Landry stares and Cam knows he’s probably waiting for Sheppard to do the same. Cam gives a tiny shake of his head, and Landry seems to shake it off, gesturing to his desk.

“Colonel Mitchell,” he says. “What can I do for you?”

They spend the next hour or so hashing out the details of Cam’s altered schedule at the SGC. Landry’s not from Disciplinary, doesn’t quite get what it is that Cam has to do, but he knows enough to give Cam the freedom he’s going to need. Sheppard sits in the same chair as yesterday, hands laced over his stomach, the picture of nonchalance. Cam can tell that he’s listening to every single word.

They leave and head to Cam’s office, where they grab two stacks of files before heading back to his quarters. He’s off of the Gate team until further notice, which might hurt a little but will be for the best in the long run. He doesn’t need to be leaving Sheppard by himself at this point, and the last thing Sheppard needs is for Cam to get laid up with some head wound and be transferred to some other Trainer. So for now, at least, Cam’s going to be riding a desk. Sheppard has been technically assigned as his office clerk, which Cam just knows he’s going to regret.

Sheppard slumps into the sofa as soon as Cam shuts the door. He’s curled into it so well by the time Cam sets the files down and sits near him that his head is halfway into the cushion.

“Okay,” Cam starts reasonably, trying to fall back on what he’s been taught to do, coming up blank, and deciding to just dive in headlong. “Talk to me, Sheppard.”

“Go away,” Sheppard mumbles into the arm of the couch.

“I don’t think so,” Cam responds. “We’re in my quarters, for one.”

Sheppard readjusts himself so he’s on his side facing the wall. “ _He_ didn’t like me, either,” he says blandly.

Oh. Cam isn’t quite sure how to respond to that. “Landry’s safe.”

“Yeah,” Sheppard says, “that’s the kicker. Logically, I know that.”

“But it’s hard to believe it,” Cam finishes. “So is it all superior officers who don’t like you that trigger it?”

Sheppard’s mouth twists into something that’s half grimace and half smirk and entirely pained. “No.”

“What is it?” Cam presses. “His age? His demeanor? His name, his hair, his voice, what?”

Sheppard shakes his head. “It’s not just the ones who don’t like me.” Cam exhales and slides away from Sheppard, who stretches out his legs to bump his feet against Cam’s thigh, as he had in his sleep. “Not you, though, and I can’t figure out why.”

“I don’t know why, either,” Cam admits. He really doesn’t. “It’s probably a good thing, though.”

“Definitely,” Sheppard agrees, closing his eyes as Cam reaches for the first file in the stack. “So what’s our first assignment as desk jockeys?”

Cam has to pick a new team member for SG-3 while he’s out. They’re giving command to Major Lorne, and he’ll do a brilliant job, Cam knows, but they’re going to need a fourth. Cam scowls at the file he’s holding and tosses it to the side. Lorne already has Parrish, a somewhat excitable botanist, and Stackhouse, who is reliable in a firefight if not a brilliant conversationalist. He and Sheppard go through the entire stack, debating the pros and cons of each candidate’s possible contributions, with Cam sharing stories about his team and their misadventures offworld as they work. Finally, they whittle it down to three files. Cam lines them up side-by-side and reviews the main information sheets again.

Sheppard leans over, squinting at the file on Cam’s right. “That one.”

Cam grabs the file and brings it closer, flicking through the information again. Cadman, Lieutenant Laura, smiles challengingly up at him from a too-bright photo clipped to the page. “Why her?” Cam asks. He’s actually planning on giving all three files to Lorne and having him interview each candidate, hoping something’ll just click.

Sheppard shrugs. “Seems like a good fit. She can balance out your chatty plant guy and keep up with what’s going on. Plus, she’s an explosives expert, which has got to come in handy more often than you’d want it to offworld.” He looks at the photo in the file. “Sometimes teams need a woman, too, for weird rituals and shit.” He hesitates. “She might not work at all. I don’t know your team, but from what you say, she seems like she’d make a good addition.” He jerks his thumb at the other files. “Why don’t you just dump these on Major Lorne, make him interview all three and choose for himself?”

Cam grins and scoops up the other files. “Yeah, I was just thinking that.”

Sheppard gives him that little half-smile that Cam’s beginning to realize is his expression for a lot of things. “You know what they say about great minds.”

“Yeah,” Cam agrees, heading for the door. “I’ll be back in a few. I’m gonna go sneak these onto Lorne’s desk while he’s at lunch.”

Sheppard chuckles as Cam closes the door, and he jogs his way to the elevator.

He’s only gone ten minutes, tops, but when he lets himself back into his room Sheppard’s nowhere to be seen. The locator signal hasn’t gone off, and Cam finally finds Sheppard leaning against the side of the bathtub, shaking and pale. Cam slides down near him, not touching, but close enough to offer comfort.

“Sorry,” Sheppard mumbles. “I’m a shitty houseguest.”

“It’s fine,” Cam lies smoothly, knowing it isn’t. “What happened?”

Sheppard digs the palm of one hand into his forehead. “Some people dropped by, looking for you.”

Cam nods and waits. Sheppard takes in a shaky breath. “Said it wasn’t important, but they lingered around, and I kind of… flipped, I guess. Asked them to leave or wait in the hallway or, I don’t know, and then I came in here and locked the door. That guy was huge.”

Cam understands in an instant, because Teal’c is big enough that he scares almost everyone shitless, but for someone with Sheppard’s triggers Teal’c would be a nightmare come to life. “Big dark-skinned guy with a gold stamp on his forehead, pretty little blonde woman, crazy dark-haired chick, possibly a distracted-looking guy with glasses?” he guesses. Sheppard nods. “Okay.” He stands and offers a hand to Sheppard, who stares at it for a long moment before slowly reaching up to take it. “I’m gonna go track them down. You go lay down before you pass out, okay?”

Sheppard nods jerkily and Cam watches him slump down onto his cot before leaving to find out what Sam needed from him.

“Cam!” he hears as he’s getting into the elevator, and he hops back through the closing doors quickly as Sam jogs down the hallway to meet him.

He’s known Sam Carter for years, has considered her family for most of that time. He’d actually been slated to join Sam’s team when he was assigned to the SGC, but Fate had intervened and given him his own team, for which he’s been grateful. SG-1 gets shot at a lot.

“What’s beans, Sam?” he asks, and she rolls her eyes at the expression.

“We wanted to drop in and meet your guest,” she says. “He was… well, I’m not sure what he was, to be honest.”

Cam grimaces. “Do me a favor. Don’t bring Teal’c by for a while.”

Sam merely raises an eyebrow. Cam sighs and calls for the elevator, jabbing at a random floor. When the cab starts to move, he flicks the emergency stop, and the elevator grinds to a halt between floors.

“Portable conference room,” Sam says, approval apparent.

“Yeah,” Cam says, and tells her about Sheppard, leaving nothing out. Sam is one of the few people who know that Cam’s a Trainer, and a Fourth one at that. He doesn’t hide it, exactly, but it’s just not something that really comes up in conversation. When he finishes, Sam is shaking her head, somewhere between sympathy and horror.

“Poor guy,” she says quietly. She hesitates. “Do I freak him out? I outrank him, but I’m a woman, and I’m quite a bit smaller than he is.”

Cam shrugs. “I’m not sure he even noticed you, to be honest. Teal’c freaked him out pretty thoroughly.”

Sam laughs, but it’s not her normal happy chirp. “I’ll keep everyone away until you give the all-clear.” She hesitates. “I’m going to have to share some of this with the rest of the team, Cam. Even if it’s just to keep them away from Sheppard.”

He nods. “Keep as much as you can to yourself,” he says, knowing that he doesn’t have to tell her that but feeling the need to say it anyway.

Sam nods and flicks the switch, and the elevator shudders back into motion.

Sheppard isn’t sleeping when Cam gets back, but he is lying down, so Cam sits on the couch with his laptop and starts going through the backlog of mission reports he’s got saved. He’s just finishing his notes on Sergeant Markham’s report about the far-too-friendly natives on P6X-993 when Sheppard leans in the doorway.

“Better?” Cam asks bluntly. There’s color in Sheppard’s cheeks, and he no longer looks like he’s about to lose his breakfast. Sheppard nods, one hand messing up the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Sorry I freaked out on your friends,” he says, sighing and squinting his eyes. “I suck at first impressions.”

Cam grins. “That’s hardly the worst first impression they’ve ever gotten of someone,” he replies mildly. “You didn’t pull a gun or a spear, you didn’t try to poison them or blow them up, you didn’t try to kidnap them.” Sheppard looks puzzled, so Cam adds, “That was SG-1. Colonel Samantha Carter, Teal’c of the Free Jaffa, Vala Mal Doran from wherever she’s claiming to be from this week, and Dr. Daniel Jackson.”

Sheppard’s eyes are comically wide. “Oh. I fucked that up.”

Cam laughs. “Don’t worry about it.” He recalls Sam’s question and tilts his head. “Is Sam going to trigger episodes with you, or is it just men?”

Sheppard looks at him blankly. “She’s – hell. I didn’t even… I should have saluted or something.”

“She’d have laughed at you,” Cam informs him. “Answer the question.”

“I don’t know,” Sheppard says slowly. “I’d like to say no, to pretend that there’s at least part of me that isn’t totally fucked over, but I really don’t have a clue.”

Cam nods. It’s a fair assessment. “Do you want to test that theory, or no?”

“I’d really rather not,” and Sheppard’s voice is that flat tone again, where he’s covering something by showing nothing. Okay, Cam decides, no Sam. That’s fine.

“Dinner?” Cam offers instead. “I think they’ve got Mystery Meat B today.”

“Is that the pink one?”

Cam shakes his head. “Orange,” he says, and Sheppard pulls a face that Cam agrees with, because Mystery Meat B is terrible, and meat should never be orange. It’s dinner, though. “C’mon, we’ll get giant plates of potatoes and pudding cups.”

Sheppard grins. “Sure.”

The rest of the evening is, thankfully, uneventful. There’s more mission reports, and Cam gives Sheppard a stack of the basic ones to go through – though the Stargate is public knowledge, the specifics aren’t, and Sheppard’s going to need some details if he’s going to be around for any length of time.

Sheppard sits back hours later. “So, basically, if it weren’t for those people I chased out of here earlier, I’d be dead?”

“And O’Neill,” Cam says. “And Jonas Quinn.”

“Yeah, and them.” Sheppard shakes his head wryly. “Some thanks I’m showing them, huh?”

Cam rolls his eyes. “Give it a rest already, Sheppard. I talked to Sam. It’s all smoothed out.”

“Yeah,” Sheppard sighs.

Cam leans his head to the side. “So if Landry were to show up-”

Sheppard immediately tenses, and some of the color drains from his face. “He’s coming here?”

“No,” Cam hurries to explain. “Calm down. Hypothetically, if he were to show up here for whatever reason, it’d be worse than seeing him in his office.”

Sheppard nods, his eyes losing some of their vibrancy. “I sleep here,” he tries to explain. “Nothing would happen out there.”

Safety zone, Cam realizes. Okay. No visitors, then. He repeats the thought, and Sheppard looks away. “What?”

Sheppard shrugs one shoulder. “I feel like a kid. I didn’t even feel like a kid when I was a kid, but I damn well feel like one now.”

“Yeah,” Cam shrugs. “Here’s the thing, though. Shit happens. You’re here so that shit can get itself fixed.”

Sheppard smiles but there’s still nothing in his eyes. “Yeah. Good luck.”

“Is that a challenge?” Cam tries to make it sound like one, tries to get Sheppard interested in his own wellbeing this way, but Sheppard just looks at him, an odd little twist to his expression.

“Sometimes it’s better for everyone involved to just put the racehorse down when he breaks his leg,” he says.

“None of that,” Cam growls. That’s the last thing Sheppard needs, to be thinking along those lines. He sighs. “Forget it, Sheppard. Let’s just turn in for the night, and we’ll start again in the morning.”

“More mission reports?” Sheppard drawls, looking at the stack of papers that Cam has printed out and set in a pile for him. Cam grins.

“Gotta learn your history,” Cam says lightly. He stands and stretches before walking into the bedroom, grabbing his clothing and heading to the bathroom to change.

Sheppard does the same when Cam walks out, returning not long after and slipping into his cot. They don’t say goodnight to each other, but Sheppard settles himself into his blankets and lets out a sleepy sigh and Cam does the same, and then they’re both out.

Cam’s almost expecting the nightmare, figures Sheppard probably has them every night, and he’s up instantly when Sheppard starts breathing more harshly in his sleep. He’s curled up facing the wall this time, and Cam hesitates, his hand hovering above Sheppard’s arm. He kneels beside the bed, trying to appear as nonthreatening as possible, and grabs Sheppard’s upper arm.

Sheppard gasps awake, just as he had last night, but he doesn’t reach for his pants this time. Instead, he lies there, panting, as he stares at the ceiling in the dark. Cam leaves his hand on Sheppard’s arm until the other man moves out of his grasp.

“Do you want to tell me about it?”

“No,” Sheppard says succinctly, and that’s the end of that. Cam drops his hand to his lap, trying hard not to sigh. It’s hard to help if he doesn’t know how to do it, if he doesn’t know exactly what the problem is.

Cam stands and makes his way back to his bed. Sheppard’s already asleep again by the time Cam pulls his own blankets up.

The next time Cam wakes, it’s to the feel of hands running down his chest, a warm weight settling beside him, and he snaps his eyes open to find Sheppard staring straight at him.

“Let me,” he says, and there’s a note of begging, almost, as Sheppard’s fingers dip under Cam’s waistband. “Let me.”

“Okay,” Cam says, although he’s not so sure this is a good idea. “Whatever you need.”

Sheppard’s eyes are alive, moreso than they have been since Cam met him, as he leans over and tentatively brushes their lips together. Cam responds with the barest pressure, giving back only what he’s given in the first place, and Sheppard kisses him again, the slightest hint of tongue against Cam’s lips.

Sheppard’s hands are back on Cam’s chest, pressing him into the bed, then resting there lightly as he leans back, surveying Cam on the bed before him. Sheppard closes his eyes and draws in a shuddering breath. “Please.” It’s almost a whisper.

“Tell me,” Cam says quietly. “Tell me, Sheppard.”

Sheppard’s breathing is uneven, ragged, and he doesn’t answer, just leans forward and pushes Cam’s shirt up under his arms and leans down to lick and suck at the exposed skin. Cam sighs and stays as still as he can; Sheppard doesn’t need Cam moaning and arching up off the bed like he sometimes tends to do. He’s only human, though, and Sheppard has a very talented mouth, so he’s letting out little gasps more and more as Sheppard travels lower and lower. He’s sucking at Cam’s hipbone, rubbing little circles into his stomach, when he suddenly freezes. Cam opens his eyes and props himself up, carefully not reaching for Sheppard. He waits, watching, as Sheppard’s eyes slide closed and he visibly fights something.

“Say my name,” he finally asks, and there’s a note of wild desperation in it.

“Sheppard,” Cam says softly, and Sheppard leans up until he’s looming over Cam’s entire body, their faces mere inches apart.

“No,” Sheppard says unsteadily, “my _name_.”

Cam touches his fingers to Sheppard’s wrist. “John,” he says, even more quietly.

Sheppard closes his eyes and drops his head, breathing shallowly. “Please.”

“John,” Cam repeats, rubbing his thumb up and down. “John.”

Sheppard’s eyes open, and they’re bright with something that Cam can’t identify, but he leans in and kisses Cam fiercely, like doing so holds the secrets of the universe. His hands are busy at the same time, undoing the drawstring, working down pants and boxers until Cam’s exposed, and then his mouth leaves Cam’s, laying a wet trail down his chest until he’s got his face buried in Cam’s hip, where he’d been sucking and licking only a moment ago. Cam doesn’t reach for him, doesn’t thread his fingers into his hair, and Sheppard keeps his face pressed there, warm breath ghosting across absurdly chilled skin.

“John,” Cam says again, and feels Sheppard’s breath hitch against his body. “You don’t have to.”

Sheppard raises his head, says, “I know,” and lowers his mouth over the head of Cam’s cock.

He uses his mouth and hands, fingers on Cam’s cock and his stomach and his arms and his balls, and he’s done this before, in a situation he could control, or he wouldn’t have that finesse, that know-how. Cam gasps and arches a little, hands fisting in the sheets as Sheppard does something obscene with his tongue.

Sheppard raises his head a little. “Please,” he says again, and Cam says his name over and over, a litany, a prayer, and Sheppard – John – leans his head back down and sucks even more of Cam into his mouth.

Cam doesn’t hold his mouth back, letting John hear every gasp and hitch and moan, repeating John’s name over and over, his voice becoming more and more ragged to his own ears as the other man sucks and licks and runs his fingers everywhere, abstract patterns that change and stray and spiral over his skin.

“John,” Cam gasps, “Stop, I’m going to-”

And John pulls back a little and pushes his face all the way down, relaxing the muscles in his throat, and then he hollows his cheeks and Cam can only chant his name over and over again and hope he’d done the right thing.

John is breathing way more normally than Cam is by the time Cam can make sense of things again. He hasn’t moved much, though: he’s pressing his face back into Cam’s hip, that same warm breath teasing down the inside of his thigh. Cam tentatively reaches a hand down and runs his fingers through John’s hair.

“Tell me,” he says softly. “John.”

John shakes his head minutely. “Not now,” he says haltingly. “Tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Cam agrees. “What do you need?”

John shakes his head again. “Just – can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Stay,” John whispers into the crook of Cam’s hip. Cam can see it clearly, all of a sudden, the nameless officer in the past who demanded and then shoved him away, and Cam cups his hand around the back of John’s head.

“Yeah,” he says, thumb rubbing at the back of John’s neck. He reaches with his other hand and tugs the covers down as well as he can with both of them lying mostly on top of them. “You have to come up here, though.”

John scoots up the bed, somehow freeing the blankets, and curls against Cam’s body, throwing a leg over Cam’s and tucking his head onto Cam’s chest. Cam wraps an arm around John’s back and presses a kiss into his hair.

“Sleep,” he says softly, and John nods from his place against Cam’s chest. Cam’s hand moves soothingly up and down John’s arm until he feels the other man relax into slumber. It’s not long after that Cam falls asleep as well.

He wakes a few hours later, feeling refreshed and alert without quite knowing why. He’s always been kind of a morning person, and it hasn’t diminished with him practically living underground; he’s still mostly up when the sun is, even if he can’t always see the sun. John is still curled around him, his face buried in Cam’s chest, one arm thrown across his waist, fist clenching at Cam’s shirt. He’s asleep, and he looks absolutely worn. Cam brings a hand up and runs his fingers absently through John’s hair as he thinks.

It had been the right thing to do; he knows that now, even if he’d been worried about it last night. John had come to him, said what he wanted in his own fashion, and Cam had complied, doing no more than was asked and giving exactly what was needed. He was glad, actually; he’d been worried that John would be even more messed up, that he’d want to be punished. It’s not that Cam isn’t trained for that, because he is; it’s just that it’s a part of his job as a Trainer that he doesn’t want to have to explore. And John had wanted physical intimacy, sure, but he’d also wanted some sort of emotional connection. Given what’s probably happened to him in the past, Cam isn’t really that surprised.

Cam can tell the second John wakes up. His hand tightens in the hem of Cam’s shirt, and he breathes in deeply, though he doesn’t otherwise move. He stays like that for a moment, breathing in and out against Cam’s chest. Cam keeps moving his fingers idly through John’s hair, letting John believe that he hasn’t noticed, if he chooses to.

“Stop thinking so loud,” John mumbles finally. “It’s distracting me.”

Cam chuckles, the motion in his chest jostling John’s head, and John tilts his head up to glare sleepily. “Distracting you from what?”

“I dreamed I was stationed in Antarctica,” John says thoughtfully. “I was having lunch with a bunch of scientists.” He pauses. “And a penguin.”

“I’m sorry to have woken you from that,” Cam replies seriously, but he can’t help the grin that flits across his face.

“It’s probably for the best,” John says, yawning. He stretches, legs straightening and joints popping. “I’m assuming you want to talk.”

Cam looks down at him, surprised, before responding. “I figured we’d get up and shower first. Eat breakfast.”

“Neutral territory,” John drawls. His fingers are still playing absently with the hem of Cam’s shirt. “Have a potentially triggering talk somewhere that we didn’t have sex.”

“That’s the thinking, yeah,” Cam confirms. John’s smart enough to figure it out. There’s no denying it, and really, what would be the point?

John rolls away and stretches out to his full length beside Cam, locking his hands over his stomach. Their sides are still touching, and their body heat seeps through their clothing as John stares at the ceiling. “I dreamed about it,” he says, and his voice is clipped and clinical. “Being over there. The General.”

“Yeah,” Cam says. “What happened?”

John shrugs. “In the dream, or in real life?”

Cam considers. “Whichever you can tell me.”

John takes a deep breath. “I didn’t notice anything was weird at first,” he starts slowly. “I mean, sure, there was this general visiting, and yeah, we were all supposed to be on our best behavior, but none of us were really paying attention. And then he showed up, and Calkins – our CO, he ran the base – he was really kissing this new general’s ass.” John takes another steadying breath. “I was on guard detail, kind of a punishment for pulling some dumb stunt that I don’t even really remember. And they walk by, Calkins and the general, and the general just kind of stops and looks at me. Says something to Calkins, and then he walks over and kind of – pats me on the back.”

There’s a pause, but Cam doesn’t need to fill it, can understand the need for silence to collect your thoughts. Or to contain them.

“He says to Calkins, ‘You’re busy, Colonel. Why don’t I finish my tour with the Major here?’ And then Calkins just – walks away. And me, I don’t know any better, so I just walk along, smartassing my way through it, pointing out stupid shit like the latrines and the mess and shit he obviously already knows. I didn’t show him the airfields, didn’t show him the hangars. I should have.”

John’s voice is still far away, like he’s really recounting a dream, though Cam sincerely doubts that’s the case. The silence stretches on longer this time.

“And then we get done and I salute, trying to act respectful or something, I don’t know, and he looks at me and asks where I’m from, what’s my family like, do I have any pictures. I’ve got a brother. Dave. We’re not real close, but he’s got kids, two girls, Adrienna and Brittany. So I say yeah, I’ve got a few pictures if he’s interested, and we walk back to my quarters, kind of chatting about the States and his grandkids and how I sort of miss pumpkin pie, of all the damn things, and when I’ve got my back turned to him to grab the picture of the girls out of where I stuffed it in my drawer he turns and locks my door.”

John’s breathing is strained, and Cam bumps the back of his hand against the back of John’s, a silent reassurance. John presses his hand into the contact but doesn’t speak again until he’s got his breaths under control.

“By the time I turn around with the pictures, he’s already got his buckle undone, and he pushes me down on my knees and puts his cock in my mouth and holds me by the hair and shoves in and in. And I’m gagging, because it’s not something I’ve done recently, but he doesn’t care. He just keeps going until he shoots and I literally choke. Thought I was going to puke all over the floor when he pulled out. He wiped himself off on my sheets, tucked it all back in, zipped up, and left without saying a word.” John’s voice sounds absolutely wrecked. “I was still holding the picture of the girls. I had crumpled it all up, and I didn’t have another one, so I tried to smooth it out, put it between a couple of books and stuck the whole thing back in the drawer.”

The bed creaks as John suddenly sits and swings his legs over the side. His head drops to his hands and he’s taking deep breaths. Cam gets up carefully, walking around to the other side of the bed and squatting down in front of John. He waits, forearms on his knees, until John opens his eyes and stares down at him.

“Is that what you were thinking about last night?” Cam asks softly. John shakes his head.

“I was thinking about later that night,” he says, voice low. “He came back. Just opened the door and walked in, and I was already in bed, trying not to think about it. And he just climbed on top of me and pulled his pants down again and he didn’t even have to try to hold me down because he was sitting on my chest, and I could hardly breathe, that’s how big he was. And he did the same thing, only right before he came he pulled his dick out of my mouth, and he jerked himself off all over me. It was in my hair, all over my face.” John shudders and his eyes drop closed. “Told me to wipe it off on my sheets and make sure I washed well in the shower the next morning, because if I had so much as one hair more out of place than usual, he’d get me court-martialed for assaulting a superior officer, thrown in Leavenworth.”

Cam’s gut clenches, like it’s been doing the whole time. “Who was it?” There’s no answer. Cam touches the back of his hand to John’s ankle. “John. What was his name?”

“I don’t know,” John tells him hollowly. “He came every night for two fucking months, and I don’t even know.”

Two months. Goddamn everything. Two fucking months. “Nobody noticed, in all that time?”

John smiles at him sickeningly. “Not a single hair more out of place than usual.”

Cam nods slowly. There’s more he needs to know still, but John’s worn out from all the talking they’ve already done, and Cam isn’t going to press him. He’s puzzled last night out on his own anyway. “Okay,” he says. “I’m sorry I made you relive it.”

John’s still got that twisted smirk on his face. “I relive it all the time.”

“Shower,” Cam says, standing. “Go. You’ll feel better.”

John nods, but he looks exhausted, like talking has taken all the energy he had left. “Shower. Yeah.”

Cam brushes a hand through his hair. “Or you can go back to sleep.”

John looks up at him, face full of surprise. “I have time for that? I thought I had mission reports to read today.”

“They’re not going to go anywhere,” Cam points out. “Look, I’ll hop in the shower, and if you want to get up when I’m done, you can. If you’re sleeping, I’ll wake you later. Deal?”

“Deal,” John says, slipping back down between the sheets. By the time Cam’s done in the bathroom, a carefully-stretched-out half hour later, John’s asleep again, body curled around Cam’s pillow instead of Cam himself.

It’s past breakfast and through mission reports and Cam’s considering lunch by the time he hears the shower turn on. John comes into the room shortly thereafter. He looks better, Cam notes. Not good, not yet, but better.

“Morning,” Cam greets as John sits on the couch. “Hungry?”

“Yeah,” John admits. “Potatoes and pudding seemed like such a great idea yesterday, but now I’m wishing I ate something a little more like food.”

Cam stands. “Lunch here, or do you want to go down to the mess?”

“I don’t know why I trust you,” John says bluntly, ignoring Cam’s question entirely, and Cam sits back down. He hadn’t realized that once you got John to talk, he was like a fountain, needing to run dry before he could stop. “I shouldn’t. I really, really shouldn’t, but I do.”

“It’s a good thing, John,” Cam tells him, watching as John twitches slightly at the use of his name. “Do you want me to go back to using your last name?”

He seems to consider it. “See, that’s what I mean. I should say yes. I shouldn’t be okay with you getting under my skin like this, and it’s a little weird, sure. But if you went back to calling me Sheppard-” He blows out a breath. “I think it might almost be worse.”

Cam nods like he understands, and maybe he does, because feeling like you finally have some sort of connection again and breaking it suddenly would be – John’s already broken enough, and Cam’s going to do his damndest to reverse that, not to heighten it.

“I shouldn’t trust you,” and John’s looking directly at him, his head tilted a little to one side, “because if you turn out to be a fucker like everyone in recent memory has, I’ll probably end up killing myself.”

“Don’t,” Cam says, but he’s not sure if he means _don’t say that_ or _don’t do it_ or maybe both, but John gives him that half-smile and shakes his head.

“So far, so good,” he quips, standing. “Like I said, though. Please don’t turn out to be a fucker.” John cocks his head to the side and laughs, actually laughs. “The metaphorical kind, at least.”

Cam doesn’t have an honest response to that, so he stands as well. “I’ll do my best.”

The walk to the mess hall is easier than it should be after the conversation they’ve just had, but Cam doesn’t feel stressed or awkward or anything other than maybe a little confused. He’s toying with the remote in his pocket as they sit down, and he pulls it out and sets it on the table next to his tray, as is his habit.

He’s eating his sandwich, already on the second half, when he notices John staring at the remote. Cam covers it with one hand, and John’s head snaps up. “I have to bring it with me,” he says. “It’s protocol.”

“I know,” John says. “And I even believe that you don’t want to use it. I’m just not sure-” He breaks off and stares pointedly at his mysterious green vegetable substance.

“Not sure of what?” Cam asks when he’s determined that John isn’t going to finish that thought.

“Not sure I’m not going to do something that’s going to change your mind,” John replies steadily, still looking resolutely at his lunch. “I piss everyone off eventually.”

Cam pulls the remote from the table and sticks it back into his pocket. “Look, they don’t let people get to my level if they’re unstable enough to be pissed off by one smartass flyboy with insane hair.”

John smiles without a trace of humor. “You’d be surprised.”

Cam lets out a breath, wondering if he should continue to argue or just give up for now. He can hear his mother’s voice in his ear – _actions speak louder than words, Cameron_ – and decides to change the subject. “So, based on the reports you’ve read so far, do you have any questions for me?”

The rest of lunch is spent that way, discussing old missions and adding some details that hadn’t made it into the reports. By the end of the meal, John is shaking his head and grinning. “I can’t decide if this would be the best posting ever or the worst.”

Cam grins back at him. “Usually, people start out thinking it’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to them, but they generally come around.” He shrugs. “Or they get themselves transferred out. SGC is totally voluntary.”

“Really?” John leans back in his chair, surprise flicking across his face. “Never heard of a posting like that.”

Cam shrugs. “It’s way more dangerous than any posting on Earth is,” he points out. “More of a chance you’ll die horribly, or something weird and alien-related will happen to you. We need people who want to be here, or they’re going to fuck up offworld and get a whole bunch of people killed. There are a lot of screening processes to go through, and if someone wants out, we get them out, no questions asked. Better reassigned than dead.”

“True,” John agrees, finishing the last of his noodles. “So, more mission reports?”

“More mission reports,” Cam agrees, standing and picking up his tray. They walk out of the mess hall, headed to the elevator, when Cam snaps his fingers and jogs in the other direction. “Gotta grab some more files,” he tells John, and they head to Cam’s office instead.

There’s a huge stack of files on his desk, and Cam looks at them with a groan, recognizing exactly how much work they represent. Desk work, he decides, is not for him. When he gets too old or too injured to continue fieldwork, he’ll just retire.

He studies John over the top of the folders. “You want to carry them back, or do you want to just work here?” John rolls his eyes and they settle into the office, and they’re both up to their necks in mission reports when Cam’s desk phone rings.

“Mitchell,” he answers, listening as Sergeant Harriman rambles on the other end of the line. “Okay, Walter, skip ahead a bit,” he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “The General – okay, yeah. Now? Yeah. Thanks.”

He looks at John and rolls his eyes. “Apparently, the General needs me in a briefing. SG-14 is headed out to P7T-3L7 tomorrow, and they’re looking for my input before they go.”

John scratches the back of his head with one hand. “That’s the one with the mutant purple cow things?”

“No,” Cam corrects as he stands, “that’s P88-R06. These are the flying cat-things with the spiky horns on their heads.”

“Oh, right,” John says sarcastically. “My bad. It was some other sort of horrifying alien creature.”

“You’ll catch on eventually,” Cam grins, walking to the door. “You gonna be okay here, or do you want to come with me?”

The question is two-sided, and Cam sees John process both possibilities quickly. “I’ll stay,” he decides. “Just a briefing, right?”

“Hopefully,” Cam says. “An hour, maybe a little longer. I’ll definitely be back for dinner.”

“Macaroni,” John supplies. “Wouldn’t want to miss that, I’m sure.”

Cam pulls a face. “Yeah. Maybe I’ll make that briefing a little longer.”

John’s quick laugh follows Cam down the hallway, and he’s still grinning when the doors open to reveal Major Russell, one of the members of SG-5. “Russell,” Cam greets as he steps inside.

“Mitchell,” Russell responds with a nod. “How’s the Trainee?”

Cam blinks before his brain catches up with him. Russell’s a Trainer too, a Third. Of course he’d know the significance of someone suddenly showing up in Cam’s quarters. “He’s doing well,” Cam allows. “We’ve got a long way to go, but he’s making pretty good progress already.”

Russell’s answering smirk is decidedly less than friendly, which is something Cam is used to getting from Third Trainers. “If you need a hand, you just let me know,” he offers.

“I think I’ve got it covered,” Cam tells him, putting an edge of steel in his voice. “I’ve got the same skills you’ve got, Russell. If I need to use them, I will.”

Russell tilts his head to the side. “Word is that Fourth Trainers rarely use their Third Training with their Assignments,” Russell almost sneers. “Revert back to the stuff you learn as a First, instead.”

Cam levels Russell with a glare. “As a Fourth,” he says levelly, “I use all of the skills at my disposal to the best of my knowledge, ability, and discretion. Should I choose to use the skills I acquired at a different level, so be it.” He takes one step closer to Russell. “It’s not for you or anyone else to decide how I handle Major Sheppard’s case, Russell. Are we understood?”

“Clear as crystal,” Russell responds easily, as if he can’t tell that Cam’s ready to throttle him from here to kingdom come. “You got him polishing the china right now or something?”

Cam takes three deep breaths. “No, Russell, he’s actually working right now. Just like I told him to.”

“Working,” Russell snorts as the elevator doors open. “Doing what, fucking himself stupid with some sort of Fourth toy until you get back?”

Cam grabs Russell by the shirt and slams him into the wall of the elevator’s cab, not caring that there are most definitely at least three Marines and airmen watching from the corridor outside. “He’s none of your damn business, Russell,” Cam says calmly, letting his anger flash through his face but not seep into his voice. “He’s my Assignment, my Trainee, not yours, so keep your nose where it belongs. Understood?”

Russell has a somewhat laconic smile on his face, weirdly dissonant with how Cam has him shoved against the wall. “So you do remember your Third Training.”

Cam lets him go with a disgusted snort and leaves the elevator without another word. The people in the corridor pointedly look elsewhere as Cam strides down the hallway to the briefing room.

It is, quite possibly, the longest, most boring meeting Cam’s ever been forced to attend. Really, the flying cat-things aren’t that bad, especially if you remember to bring MREs that don’t involve fish. Dr. Miskin seems especially fascinated by them, though, and makes Cam keep going over and over the same damn details until Landry sighs, drops his head to his hands, and says, “Miskin, you’ll be there tomorrow, for God’s sake. You’ll see them for real. Can we just get on with it already?”

Miskin abates after that, muttering about bringing a camera and extra notepads and possibly a voice recorder, and it’s fifteen more minutes before Cam is finally dismissed. It’s been two and a half hours since he left John in his office. Cam sighs as he trudges back to the elevator. He’s ready to call it a day, and after spending all that time reading old mission reports, he’s pretty sure John won’t have any objections.

There are weird noises coming down the hallway when the elevator doors open on the floor Cam’s office is on, and Cam’s mild interest blows past worry into a full-blown blanket of panic and anger when he opens his office door. The first thing he sees is Russell, head thrown back, pants open, shoving his dick into John’s mouth over and over again while he twists his hands in John’s hair.

The second thing he sees is the remote, the one he always carries with him, in Russell’s hand. A quick check of his pockets confirms that, no, he doesn’t have the remote, and as he thinks back Cam can remember tossing it on his desk when he walked in before, but not picking it back up when he left for his meeting.

Russell sees him, suddenly, and a look of absolute hatred crosses his face as he surveys Cam. “They told me I couldn’t be a Fourth,” he sneers, hips surging forward. “They were wrong. See, I can handle him just as well as you can.” He flicks at the remote, hitting the green button, and John screams, hands jerking wildly through the air as the remote activates the nodes in the collar, delivering a painful shock to John’s system. John’s hands are shaking, a sure sign that it’s not the first time Russell’s used the button, but he doesn’t push away, doesn’t try to escape. Cam’s gut twists as he focuses on the remote. The button on the bottom, usually orange, is glowing red.

Cam’s across the room in a flash, punching Russell in the face, causing him to stumble back. He hits Cam’s desk and topples, and Cam grabs him by the shirt and hits him again. Russell slumps over and stays down.

There’s a small sound from the floor, and Cam glances down to see John crawling towards Russell, eyes wild, hand reaching for Russell’s dick where it’s still sticking out of his pants. Cam swears and dives for the remote, jabbing at the second button and watching it turn back to orange.

John immediately stops what he’s doing and falls onto all fours, shaking. Cam drops beside him, placing a tentative hand on his shoulder. “John.”

John turns away from Cam and retches onto the floor, heaving until there’s nothing left in his stomach. His arms give out soon after, and he collapses into Cam, shaking, unable to say anything. Cam runs his fingers through John’s hair over and over again, murmuring soft, nonsensical things, lies about how everything’s going to be okay. Finally, John turns so his face is buried in Cam’s lap and takes a deep, shuddering breath.

“Let’s get you to the infirmary,” Cam says gently. John shakes his head.

“I’m fine,” he says hollowly. “He didn’t – my clothing stayed on.”

“John,” Cam says, still stroking his hair. “You’re going to get checked out, okay?”

John nods against Cam’s thigh. Cam reaches behind himself for his phone, dragging it down to sit on the floor next to him. He dials the infirmary first, letting them know that he’s on his way down with John, and then dials another number.

“General,” Cam says when Landry picks up the phone. “I’m going to need you to send a security team to my office.” He quickly explains the attack, leaving out most of the details. “I’m taking Major Sheppard to the infirmary,” Cam says when he’s finished. “I’d like you to toss Major Russell into one of the holding cells until I can get in touch with Disciplinary.”

“Understood.” Landry’s voice is hard over the phone, and Cam’s pretty sure the general is ready to toss Russell through to a space gate instead. “You okay to wait until the security detail gets up there?”

Cam looks down at John, who’s staring at the wall across from where he’s still laying in Cam’s lap, barely blinking. “No, sir, I think we’re going to head out. Don’t worry, though,” he adds, glancing at Russell. “He’s not going anywhere.”

“Oh?”

Cam lets a cold grin cover his face for a split second. “He’s somewhat less than conscious.”

“Good,” Landry spits before hanging up the phone.

Cam sets his phone back on his desk and taps John on the shoulder. “Up you go,” he prods gently until John sits next to him. “Come on, John. Work with me here.”

They stand together, John leaning heavily into Cam, and Cam wraps an arm around his waist securely. He tucks the remote into a pocket before walking John to the elevator at the end of the hall. The doors slide open as Cam gets close, and a team of Marines spills out. Cam jerks his head towards his office, and as he turns back to the elevator, he hears a sharp gasp.

Sam rushes forward to support John from the other side, and John doesn’t flinch away, doesn’t balk. Instead, he loops his other arm wearily around her shoulders, sagging even more on his feet, but Sam bears his added weight without complaint. Together, the three of them make their way to the infirmary, where Cam and Sam both sit in the room as Dr. Lam does a thorough physical examination. She starts John on an IV and pulls the curtain closed around his bed, cutting them off from the rest of the infirmary.

John’s asleep, back to his position from a few nights prior, with his arms wrapped around himself and his back to the wall. Lam sighs. “Physically, Colonel, he’s fine.”

Cam feels something inside of him relax. John had said as much, but hearing it from the doctor is infinitely more reassuring. “And mentally, he’s pretty fucked up.”

Lam sighs. “Essentially, yes. Sexual assault isn’t something he’s going to recover from overnight.”

“I know,” Cam says grimly. “This isn’t the first time he’s been attacked.”

Lam’s face doesn’t waver. “I realize that, Colonel. I’ve just done a physical, remember? He’s been attacked worse than this.”

The sick twisting returns to Cam’s stomach. John hadn’t told him… but then, John had told him a lot of other things last night, and Cam knew he’d still been holding something back. And he’d asked John if he’d been raped, knew that John had said yes. “Yeah,” he finally responds. He can see Sam’s face crumple next to him, can see her reach for John’s hand and think better of it, watches as she tucks her hand back into her lap.

“Cam,” she says helplessly, and he doesn’t know what to say to her, doesn’t know how to make this sit in her worldview, because for all that Sam Carter has seen and done in her life, putting two and two together and getting four in this instance is going to be worse than a lot of things she’s experienced. He just turns to face her, holding his arms open, and she leans into him gratefully, accepting what comfort he can give. He looks over Sam’s head to the doctor. “Physically, he’s fine, though.”

Lam sighs. “I administered a sedative,” she says. “He was in a pretty severe state of shock. I was afraid that if I didn’t put him under, he’d suffer a psychotic break.”

Cam closes his eyes and sighs. “Right.” He shifts and Sam sits, blinking up at him, eyes bright. “I have to straighten a few things out,” he says to her. “Can you stay here with him?” He hesitates. “I think – I think he trusts you.”

Sam nods, blinking until her eyes return to normal. She twists a strand of her long blonde hair around a finger. “I’ll sit with him until you get back.”

“Thanks,” Cam says sincerely.

Cam heads back to his office, steeling himself before he walks back through the door. There’s remarkably little evidence of what had happened in the room – a few mussed files, a new dent in the desk, but nothing extremely telling. The Marines must have cleaned up where John was sick, because that’s gone, too. Anger flares in Cam for a moment, as if he feels that there should be more to show for what had been done to John, before he makes himself sit in his chair and dial the phone.

He skips the cheerful secretary and goes straight for Dobbs this time. The conversation about Russell is quick and to-the-point. The general promises to send someone by for Russell in the morning, apologizes as if it’s going to make anything better, and hangs up.

Cam shakes his head at the phone and grabs a few of the files before heading out the door. He’s in Landry’s office a few minutes later, walking in and sitting in the chair without waiting to be acknowledged.

He outlines his plan calmly, presenting logical counterpoints to all of the general’s arguments, until Landry narrows his eyes at Cam across the desk.

“You’re set on this, aren’t you, Mitchell?” he asks, tone almost resigned.

“Quite, sir,” Cam responds simply, folding his hands in his lap. “This is really only a formality because I respect you. It would be quite easy for me to go to Disciplinary and have them sort it all out.”

Landry sighs and looks a little like he wants to throw his hands up in the air. “Fine.”

Cam nods and stands. “Thank you, sir,” he says, turning sharply and heading back down to the infirmary.

Landry has already called and talked to Lam by the time Cam gets back down there, so there’s a bottle of pills shoved into his hands and a bag at the end of John’s bed for him. Sam’s in the same position she was in when Cam left, staring at John with a somewhat lost expression. She blinks as Cam walks up to stand beside John’s bed.

“He hasn’t woken,” Sam tells him quietly. “I’ve been – talking to him. I’m not sure he can hear me, but I figured a friendly voice couldn’t hurt anything.” She draws in a shaky breath as she stands and walks until she’s by Cam’s side. “Told him about your family, mostly,” she says, trying to smile. “About Momma’s pie and Breeann’s crazy stunts and your nieces.”

Cam pulls her into a fierce hug. “Thanks, Sam,” he says, wishing there were some other way for him to express his gratitude.

“Yeah,” she replies, squeezing him around the middle before stepping away. “Dr. Lam said you were taking him.”

Cam nods. “I think it’s probably best we get away from here for a while,” he says. “Between how tightly John gets wound up around authority and what happened today, I think staying here will only hurt him in the long run.”

“Probably,” Sam agrees. “Are you going back home?”

A ghost of a smile flits across Cam’s face. “I doubt he’s ready for that.”

Sam laughs. “Cam, nobody’s ever ready for that,” she teases. “Your family is like the well-meaning version of the hordes of Mongolia.”

“Hey,” Cam protests lightly, but it’s sort of true – his family is huge, and for the newcomer, it’s a little overwhelming. Sam’s first visit had been hilarious, but that’s because Sam’s always been the roll-with-the-punches type. If he took John home right now, he’d break like a twig in a tornado.

Sam smiles and walks to the opening in the curtain. “Let me know if you need anything, Cam,” she says. “Anything.”

“I will,” he promises, and she leaves. Cam sits down in the chair nearest to the bed and opens one of the files, waiting for John to wake up.

It takes almost an hour before John comes to sharply, gasping and sitting stock-straight, and Cam’s standing by the bed before he processes what he’s doing.

“Easy,” he murmurs, touching John lightly on the shoulder. “Easy, John.”

John’s face snaps to him and he seems to focus on Cam. “Where am I?” he asks, twisting until Cam’s hand falls from his shoulder. He starts to tremble, only slightly, and his breath comes in shallowly.

“You’re in the infirmary,” Cam tells him. “Do you remember why?”

John nods jerkily. “You came back.”

Cam nods slowly. “I did.”

“You turned it off. You made him stop.”

“I did,” Cam repeats. John’s hand grasps at Cam’s sleeve and he tugs until Cam leans down, and then John sets his head on Cam’s shoulder, breathing shakily. He doesn’t say anything else. Cam settles his arm across John’s shoulders, drawing him in, letting him take what he needs. Finally, John pulls back. The color in his face is a bit better and he has his breathing more under control. The trembling in his hands has stopped, or he’s hiding it well.

“Can we go?” he asks.

Cam nods. “Let me get the doctor.”

Lam frowns but doesn’t protest when Cam tells her that they’re leaving, and he brings John a clean change of clothing a few minutes later, tossing it onto the bed and turning to leave again. He’s stopped by John’s intake of breath, and he turns back around to see John clutching the BDUs, staring in his direction.

“Could you…” John trails off, making an awkward gesture with one hand. “Please?”

Cam tilts his head to one side and John flushes, looks away. Cam takes a step closer to the bed. “You want me to stay?” he asks. John nods, and Cam settles back against the bed. “I can do that.”

John nods again and strips out of the scrubs efficiently. He’s into the BDUs before Cam can really blink, and he’s lacing up the ties on his boots less than two minutes after he first peeled off the shirt. In no time at all, he’s standing in front of Cam, looking much more like the man who had woken up in his bed this morning.

Cam isn’t fooled.

“Come on,” he says to John, grabbing the bag that had been on the end of John’s bed and the files he’d brought along. They walk in silence back to Cam’s quarters. The door opens to three bags in the living area, neatly packed for them and waiting. Cam crosses and grabs two before turning to John. “Can you get that last one?”

“Where are we going?” John asks with a frown.

“Home,” Cam tells him. “Away from here. Out of the mountain.”

John grabs the third bag and they walk to the elevator. As the doors open a minute later, he says, “You have a house? A place outside of the SGC?”

“Yeah,” Cam confirms, walking across the parking lot. “I don’t see that much of it, but I’ve got a place.”

“And we’re going there.”

“We’re going there,” Cam agrees as they swing the bags into the back of his car, the one that barely leaves the lot, because Cam’s usually under the Mountain. John gives a low whistle and runs his hand over the paint job and Cam feels a moment of pride; she’s a beauty, his baby, and it’s nice to see someone showing appreciation. That it’s John only makes it better. It’s the first thing Cam’s seen him interested in since they’d met.

“Nice,” John murmurs appreciatively as he slides into the passenger’s seat. “Any chance I can get a turn behind the wheel?”

“Not today,” Cam says with a grin. “Ask me again when you’ve had some real sleep and a meal in which you can identify all of your food.”

John smirks. “You cook?”

“I cook,” Cam tells him seriously. “Growing up like I did, you learn to.”

“Different bases,” John says thoughtfully. “You have a brother. And a lot of cousins.” He frowns. “Breeann?”

Cam laughs. “So it did sink in,” he says, delighted. “I’ll have to tell Sam.”

“She was there,” John says distantly, a hazy look in his eyes. “She helped.”

“Yeah,” Cam replies. “She did.” He hesitates. “She’s one of the good ones, John.”

John shrugs, the bitter twist of his lips giving him away. “I’m starting to believe you on that one.”

Cam smiles, mostly because he’s not sure what else to do, and the rest of the drive is made in silence.

Cam’s house is small, a two-bedroom affair, and it’s true that he doesn’t see much of it, but he’d called ahead to the woman who keeps it tidy for him and asked her to run to the grocer’s for him, so the kitchen is well-stocked. “Room’s at the end of the hall,” he calls as he ducks in to survey what Linda left in the refrigerator for tonight. It’s chicken breasts, he notes with approval, taking them out and pulling other ingredients from various cupboards, and he’s got them sizzling in a pan a few minutes later. John walks in hesitantly as Cam’s sliding them into the oven. He’s still holding his bag.

“Which room?” he asks quietly, and Cam blinks, because he’s already said, but then he recalls that both rooms are at the end of the hall, just on different sides.

Cam shifts back against the counter, resting there as non-threateningly as he can. “Up to you,” he says. “Protocol says that you’re supposed to stay with me, but I’m not going to force the issue if you’d feel safer in the other room.” He’d actually meant for John to stay in the other room, but looking at him now, Cam knows that letting John choose will be better in the long run, whichever way he decides.

John hesitates. “I don’t know,” he says, cheeks flaring red. “I’m…”

Cam wipes his hands on his jeans and stands fully. “It’s fine, John. Toss your things in the living room for now and give it some thought. You can always change your mind later, too.”

John seems to calm a little at the offer. “Yeah. Okay.”

Dinner is quiet enough. John, it turns out, can eat an almost astonishing amount of food when presented with something palatable, so there aren’t any leftovers even though Cam had been sure he’d have a lunch out of this. He doesn’t say anything, because John could stand to eat a little more, and when he rises to put his dishes in the sink, John walks over and grabs the sponge from its place on the drying rack. He turns the water just the right side of scalding and gets to work, and Cam pulls a towel from the handle of the oven and dries as he goes, setting things in cabinets and drawers. It feels normal, like it’s a rhythm they’d settled into long ago, and it startles Cam so much when he notices it that he drops the glass he’s drying back into the sink.

“Sorry,” he mutters as it splashes water onto John’s shirt. “Slipped.”

John washes it again and hands it back, and Cam doesn’t meet his eyes, just dries the glass and sets it back in the cabinet and thinks, for the first time, that maybe he can’t do this.

He reflects on it as he and John settle on opposite ends of the couch, a college ball game on television. John’s interested, focused on it in a way that Cam’s rarely seen anyone engage in anything, muttering about the ref’s calls and cheering when Ohio State’s quarterback is sacked a little too violently and leaves the field flexing his fingers.

He’s never doubted his abilities as a Trainer, never thought that he’d be the one to have a problem with attachment, because a job is a job even if that job is something that most would consider on the wrong side of morally questionable. Cam’s gotten good at compartmentalizing over the years, separating work and home, putting pieces here and there so he can keep his mind clear, and he’d always figured that this would be like anything else, just sorting everything into its own mind-box.

He’d never expected it to bleed into everything. He’d never expected an Assignment like John.

John, who shouldn’t be here, who should be with a First or a Second, probably, because even barring his mental state following an attack that isn’t on record his offense wasn’t so bad that he’d warrant anything higher than that. John, whose fear of authority but trust in Cam makes no sense. John, whom Cam shouldn’t give a damn about other than in a professional capacity, but whom he finds himself wanting to protect and shield and fight for, fight alongside, and this is what they’d warned against in his instruction, getting too attached to your Trainee. Cam already knows that he’s going to pull out of the program when this is over, because he’s already too far gone to accept another Assignment. He won’t be able to do this again.

That’s okay, he decides as he looks at John. If he can help just this once, if he can get John put back together, it won’t matter.

The game finishes with John sitting on the very edge of the couch, leaning forward, forearms resting on his thighs as he tracks the path of the ball intently with his eyes. The quarterback drops back, scans his options, darts to the left. A defender comes out of nowhere and gets a hand on the kid, but he twists out of his grip and throws the ball straight into the hands of a receiver, who dances it the final five yards into the end zone.

“Damn,” John says appreciatively as he slides back onto the seat. “Good game.”

“Yeah,” Cam agrees, though he only remembers bits and pieces of it. John’s team had come out on top by three points.

“Didn’t get the college games where I was stationed,” John offers. It’s a bit of conversation, something a little personal, and Cam grins at him before shaking his head.

“I reckon you wouldn’t, no,” he says. “Sandy little hellhole or no, they don’t push the games over there unless they’re in the big leagues.”

“College football is better,” John argues, settling back into the couch and listing off reasons. Cam grins and props his feet on the table, not thinking about normalcy or routines or how it’s getting more and more likely by the second that he’s going to have problems letting this go when his Assignment is over. Instead, he teases John about Penn State and how they only won because Ohio State kept making mistakes.

Finally, John runs out of steam, leaning his head against the back of the couch. Cam rises first, heading down the hallway to change into pajamas and get ready for bed. When he comes back out, John’s still sitting on the couch. His eyes are closed but he’s not sleeping, so Cam just waits in the entranceway, fingering the bottle of sleeping meds that Lam had slipped to him earlier.

“I don’t know,” John says finally.

Cam waits a beat, then asks, “Are you not sure you can spend the night with me, or not sure you can spend it alone?”

There’s another silence in which Cam can see John weighing his options. “I don’t know,” he repeats after a moment.

“Okay,” Cam replies. “Let’s try this. You go in the guest room, I’ll go in my room, we’ll leave the doors open and see how it goes.” He tosses the bottle to John, who catches it reflexively and reads the label. It’s John’s choice, whether or not he wants to take one, but Cam thinks he probably won’t. Old habits are hard to break, and it’s difficult to defend yourself if you’re too drugged-out to care.

John nods slowly, picking himself up from the couch and trudging down the hallway. Cam settles into his own bed, listening as John paces around in the other room. He hears the bedsprings creak as John settles, tosses, turns, until it’s been half an hour and the sound stops, replaced by the same soft pad-pad-pad of John’s feet on the floor.

There’s a light knocking on his doorframe and Cam turns over, half-expecting it. He just pulls the covers back, and neither of them say anything until after John’s settled in against him, head tucked against Cam’s chest, Cam’s arm securely around his back.

“I just keep seeing him,” John says softly. “I don’t even know who he is.”

“Do you want to?” Cam isn’t sure if it’s part of the nightmare, not knowing your attacker, or if it’s part of a safety buffer that John’s built. John still doesn’t know who the other man was, the general, and Cam secretly thinks that that’s a good thing, at least, because if he knew he’d tell Cam and then Cam would probably do something incredibly damaging to his career.

John seems to be weighing the same thoughts in his head. “Yeah,” he replies after a moment.

Naming things gives you power over them, a distant part of Cam recalls, so he nods. “His name is Aaron Russell. He’s a major, a member of SG-5.” He pauses. “Or he was, at least.”

John shifts. “Russell,” he repeats quietly. Then, “He’s not at the SGC any more?”

Cam pulls back and blinks. “John, he attacked you,” he points out. “He’s in prison. He’s waiting for Disciplinary, they’ll have a Hearing, he’ll be Assigned.”

“Oh.” John sounds a little surprised, a little confused, and Cam remembers John saying before that they’d given the general a medal. He’d dismissed it at the time, thinking it just a piece of twisted turn-of-phrase, but he wonders, now.

“The general,” Cam asks, because he has to know. “You said they gave him a medal.”

John closes his eyes. “They did. Made me stand there, too, because I was an officer and I had no official reason not to. They pinned it on him. Exceptional valor and bravery, leadership skills tested in combat, that sort of thing.”

Cam lets out a breath and considers. “And you don’t remember his name from the ceremony?”

John doesn’t look at him. “I was concentrating on not throwing up or running out of there.”

“I can find out who he was, John.”

“No,” John says immediately. “I don’t – I can’t,” he tries, and Cam wants to know so he can fix it but not if it’s going to break John, so he just nods.

“Okay,” he soothes. “I won’t ask around.”

“I just want to forget,” John mumbles. “I don’t want him in my head any more. I don’t want to think about him every time I’m in bed with – someone else.”

Cam hears the catch but doesn’t comment. He just pulls John in a little closer, strokes his thumb against the curve of John’s spine, and listens.

“There was more,” John says, eyes closed. “What he did. There was more.”

“Yeah,” Cam responds. “I know, John. Tell me.”

“He kept coming,” John says, and it’s like he’s not even here with Cam, like he’s back in his quarters in the desert, like the nameless general is about to come pounding on his door again. “Two months, he showed up every night. Sometimes it was really late.” John shudders. “Those were the good nights.”

Cam waits as John chooses his words. “The other nights, the ones where he came early. If I wasn’t there, he’d wait, in my bed usually, and I’d come back and he’d already have all of his clothes off.” John’s voice is getting more and more distant.

Cam takes John’s jaw gently in his hand. “Stay with me,” he murmurs. “Here, John. You’re safe.”

John nods, a tiny, jerky motion. “The first time was the worst. I hadn’t – since before, because there’s just no time when you’re in a war zone, and I’d been there for a long time. It was maybe a week after the first time he showed up, and I just – he opened the door and I just knelt down for him.”

There aren’t any tears, though Cam can hear them in his words. He’s not sure if that’s good or not.

“And he laughed at me, bastard, he just laughed and grabbed my hair and yanked until I stood up, and then he kind of tossed me to the bed. I fell on it, kind of hard. I banged my head on the wall.” John’s hand comes up and rubs across his forehead, the ghost of the bruise still there if not the mark itself. “Not hard enough to black out or anything, but it hurt and it made me a little dizzy, so I was still trying to get my head together when he pulled my pants open, took them down.”

John’s shivering a little. It’s not cold in here, and it wasn’t cold there. Cam wraps him up more tightly anyway, and John presses into him. It’s harder to hear now, with John speaking into the hollow of Cam’s shoulder, but Cam rests his head on top of John’s and pays closer attention.

“The pants – you know, there’s not a lot of give in those pants, they’re really just to cover you up, and he didn’t take them off, just pulled them down a bit so my legs were held together. And all I could think was that I was just glad he brought lube and condoms, because it was going to be bad anyway, but at least if he was gonna prep me a little I wasn’t going to tear, wouldn’t have to go to the infirmary.” John’s breathing is shallow and uneven, but his voice is steady, like he’s recounting it happening to someone else. He’s barely moving; even the rise and fall of his chest hardly registers against Cam’s body.

“It hurt,” John says a minute later. “It was – bad. It was really, really, bad.”

“Yeah,” Cam murmurs. “I’d imagine so.”

Cam’s surprised a few minutes later to realize that John’s asleep against him. He doesn’t sleep himself, thinking instead about John’s attacker and how John doesn’t want to know, how he just wants to let it go and move on.

Cam can’t blame him.

Somehow, suddenly, it’s morning and John is stirring against his chest. Cam’s only been asleep for a few hours, but John has been out for nearly ten, and his eyes are bright and clear when he raises his head from Cam’s shoulder.

“Sorry,” is the first thing he says. “Shit. Sorry.”

“Stop,” Cam says firmly, because he can’t think of anything John should be apologizing for. John just sighs and rolls away, and Cam’s hand falls from where it’s been resting on his hip. John blinks at him.

“Did you…” He gestures with one hand. “All night?”

“You needed it,” Cam tells him simply. It’s the truth, but John ducks his head like he’s embarrassed as he stands and walks out of the room. Cam hears the shower turn on and closes his eyes, figuring he can catch a few more minutes of sleep while John showers.

He wakes again to the smell of bacon frying and makes his way into the kitchen. John’s standing at the stove, spatula in hand, scooping the crispy strips onto a plate. His hair is still wet from the shower, but it’s drying into the spikes that Cam had originally suspected came from hair gel. He’s learning differently. “Breakfast of champions,” Cam jokes, leaning over the counter to snag a piece from the plate.

John smacks the back of his hand lightly with his spatula and mock-glares. “Go shower,” he says. “I’m making eggs, too. I hope you like scrambled, because I’m useless at anything more complicated than that.”

Cam nods as he grabs another piece of bacon, jogging back down the hall. Ten minutes later, he’s showered and dressed, back in the kitchen, where John’s just sliding a whole mess of scrambled eggs from the frying pan into a serving dish. The bacon’s already on the table, and Cam sees that the toaster is plugged in and turned on. The slices pop from the machine as John’s setting the eggs on the table.

“Impressive timing,” Cam notes as John transfers the toast from the counter to the table. “Everything coming out all at once like that.”

“Years of practice,” John replies. “Don’t get used to it. The only other thing I can make reliably is oatmeal.”

“I love oatmeal,” Cam says brightly. “There’s no better tasting goop out there.”

John rolls his eyes and they make small talk as they eat, mostly about the football game that John was so engrossed in yesterday. John has some rather detailed opinions about Ohio State, and Cam raises his eyebrows at some of the more colorful descriptions but doesn’t comment, because John’s gesturing wildly with his fork and there’s bright color in his cheeks and his eyes are more alive than Cam’s ever seen them. He sits back and interjects occasionally, tidbits about NC State mostly, and watches as John gives him the play-by-play of a game he’d seen years ago, comparing it to yesterday’s in great depth.

“It was amazing,” John finishes, long after the food is gone. The dishes are washed and stacked away, and they’ve moved to the couch in the living room. “I can’t believe you’ve never seen that game.”

“Feels like I have now,” Cam ribs with a grin. “It does sound like a good one, though. I’ll have to see if I can get my hands on it.”

John returns his smile. “You want to talk about Russell.”

Cam can only stare at John, who seems so relaxed that the words are more than a non sequitur; they’re an absolute anomaly. “Do you?”

“No,” John says, easy smile still in place. “I’d much rather have sex with you.”

“Really now,” Cam drawls, raising an eyebrow, wondering how they got here from football in less than a minute, if John automatically equates football and sex, but mostly if this is going to make things better or worse. “Why’s that?”

“Let’s see,” John mocks. “Talk about something I don’t want to think about when I already feel like I’ve carved my soul out of my body and handed it over to you, or sleep with you?” He pretends to think about it. “You know, it’s a close race, but-”

The anger, the sarcasm, it’s new and old at the same time. It’s what Cam was expecting from him this whole time, since he first saw John slouching in Landry’s office, but it seems so out of place now. It has something to do with Russell, Cam knows, but John’s only asking for what Cam’s been told to give him anyway, so he leans forward and presses his mouth to John’s, effectively silencing him.

“Tell me,” Cam says, as he’s done before, but the meaning’s different, the intent behind it, and John understands. He takes Cam by the hand and leads him back down the hallway, into Cam’s bedroom, into Cam’s bed. They both lay on top of the sheets, and John tugs until Cam’s covering him, pressing him into the soft comforter. There’s something in his expression that makes Cam lean away, take his weight from John’s body, but John’s insistent, pulling him back into place.

“Please,” he says, and there’s a lot to hear in that one word, need and fear and trust and acceptance and wanting to let go, to move on, so Cam leans down and kisses him thoroughly, mapping the inside of John’s mouth with his tongue. John responds almost hesitantly, shyly, especially given his brashness in the living room just before this. Cam understands it as well as he can, given the situation, and goes slowly, gently, running his fingers through John’s hair, waiting for John’s cue to run his hands down his arms, to rest his fingertips on the slip of skin between the soft pajama pants John had pulled on after his shower and the worn tee that Cam is just now realizing is his own. He slides his hands under the shirt, resting just beneath the hem, and watches as John’s breath catches.

“It’s okay,” Cam murmurs. “John.”

John moves around until he’s out from under Cam, lies next to him, leans in and kisses Cam softly. His hands are sure as they tug at Cam’s shirt, and Cam leans back to slip it up and off. John’s fingers trace over his chest almost delicately, as if he’s not sure he’s allowed. Cam brushes the back of his hand down the side of John’s face, watching as John closes his eyes and breathes out and never, never stops moving.

He pulls his hands back to take his own shirt off, and Cam grabs his hips and twists so John’s on top of him, leaning down, pressing their chests together in a way that makes both of them draw in a sharp breath. Cam keeps his hands lightly on John’s hips as John kisses him slowly, moving from barely-there whispers of lips against his own to a tongue flicking at his mouth to John’s hand in Cam’s hair as John kisses him deeper and deeper.

John pulls back, and there’s an uncharacteristically shy expression on his face; the tips of his ears are red, and his eyes are a little dilated. Cam wants nothing more than to lean up and kiss him again but instead he raises a hand to John’s hair and runs his fingers through it. “Whatever you need, John.”

He nods and leans back in, and they just kiss for a long time. Cam keeps his hand in John’s hair, steady and grounding, and the tension gradually leaves John’s frame until he’s lying on top of Cam, chests pressed together, skin touching skin, legs twined with legs.

John speaks with his hands and his tongue as he slides down Cam, his fingers tracing patterns into Cam’s skin, his mouth following the same path. His fingers skim along the elastic of Cam’s pants and he tilts his head, confusion and hesitation and questioning. Cam reaches down and catches John’s wrist.

“Tell me,” he says, and John traces his other hand down Cam’s thigh, resting it on his knee. There’s a tremble in his hand that Cam can feel even if he can’t see, and Cam rubs his thumb over the inside of John’s wrist. “John.”

John returns his hand to the waistband of Cam’s pants and curls his hand around the elastic, resting the back of his fingers against the top of Cam’s hip. The trembling in his hand is more noticeable as he slowly pulls at the soft material, taking his other hand from Cam’s grip as he slides to the end of the bed, tossing the pants on the floor in a crumpled heap. His fingers skirt over Cam’s thighs as he makes his way back up, again hesitating before repeating his actions with Cam’s boxers. Cam lets him sit at the end of the bed, his eyes tracking up and down Cam’s entire body, until he moves back to kneeling between Cam’s thighs.

“Please,” John says.

Cam nods. “Tell me,” he repeats. “What do you need, John?”

“To forget,” John says, and it’s honest and raw. “To remember.”

Cam nods again like he understands what John means. “Tell me.”

John is sitting back on his heels, so it’s a little awkward for him to get out of his own pants and boxers, but he’s naked and pressing back into Cam a moment later. He groans when their cocks brush together, and Cam can feel his own eyes slide shut because it’s a little electric, the feeling that produces.

“Help me,” John says, and Cam’s eyes open. He’s got his hands between their bodies, and his cock is in his fist, full and heavy in his hand. Cam reaches to the bedstand and fumbles through the drawer for a condom and some lube. John takes both from him, and Cam can tell he’s trying to steady his hands as he flips the bottle open. He reaches for Cam’s hand and squeezes some of the gel into his palm before closing the bottle carefully and lying back across Cam’s chest.

Cam strokes his empty hand down John’s back. “What do you want?” he asks as gently as he can manage.

“You,” John says, as if it’s that simple. “Please.”

This, Cam thinks, might not be as good an idea as John seems to think it is, but he brings his other hand up and settles it, palm up, in the small of John’s back. “Are you sure, John?”

“Please,” John says again, and Cam’s learning that it’s as close to a yes as he’s going to get, so he nods and goes slowly, so slowly, pushing in with one finger. He waits until John stops trembling before he moves it, gently in and out, tiny movements because this has to be good all the way through, has to be what John needs, has to be as close to perfect as Cam can get, because if it isn’t it’s going to tip John over an edge and Cam isn’t sure he can pull him back from that.

But John isn’t shaking any more. He’s gasping, little short breaths in and out as Cam moves his finger, until he opens his eyes and looks down. “I’m okay,” he breathes, and Cam isn’t sure who it’s meant to reassure but he’s glad for it anyway as he slowly pushes a second finger in. John’s making abortive little noises in the back of his throat, and Cam thinks of thin walls in military housing and nobody knowing and he presses a kiss to John’s jaw.

“It’s okay,” he says into the crease of John’s neck. “Tell me.”

John sucks in a breath and lets it out in a moan as Cam presses his fingers in, finding what he’s looking for. John shudders again, but this is territory Cam knows, what he’s good at, so he can tell that this is the good kind of shuddering, the kind that makes John arch into him and pant and sweat like he’s doing now. Cam moves a little faster, in and out, and John keeps making sounds, letting everything out into the open. Cam presses a third finger in and John’s eyes bore into his.

“I’m not going to break,” he says raggedly, but Cam keeps going because he knows it’s not the truth even if John doesn’t. John’s closer to breaking right now than he has been since Cam met him, without exception, so Cam scissors and twists and keeps moving in and out until John’s almost keening above him. It’s only then that he withdraws gently and reaches for the foil packet on the comforter.

“John,” he tries, but John stays pressed into him for a moment before he sits, resting just above Cam’s hips. He takes the condom from Cam’s hand and moves until he’s between Cam’s thighs, tearing the packet open and rolling the condom on. His hands are steadier than they’ve been since they got into the bedroom, and the smile he flashes up when he’s done is less nervous, more confident. When he stretches out to kiss Cam, it’s without hesitation.

John’s hands are in motion, reaching back and taking Cam’s cock firmly, guiding him into position. Cam stops him gently. “John, are you sure?”

John doesn’t say anything. Instead, he moves his hips back, taking Cam in slowly. When Cam is pressed as far in as he can be at this angle, John settles against his chest, breathing shallowly with his eyes clamped tightly shut. Cam runs his hands up and down John’s back and murmurs soothingly into his ear until John opens his eyes.

“It’s me,” Cam says. “It’s okay. You’re here.”

John nods, his cheek warm against Cam’s shoulder, and he starts to move, little motions that settle into a rhythm. Cam meets John with gentle thrusts, and they move together smoothly, softly, soothingly, until John lets go and sits up, bracing himself with his hands on Cam’s chest, and starts to move more quickly.

It’s beautiful, it’s glorious, and Cam is pretty sure the sight of John with his head thrown back, eyes closed, gasping as he moves up and down is going to stay with him for the rest of his life. John slows above him until he’s settled all the way down and he doesn’t move until Cam reaches out and rests his hand on his hip. John looks at him slowly, and the hesitance is shining through again. Cam rubs his hand over John’s leg, moving his hand inward until he can take John’s cock in his hand and stroke it.

“It’s okay,” Cam says, locking his gaze to John’s. “I’ve got you, John. It’s okay.”

John shudders almost violently when he comes a moment later, his whole body jerking as Cam strokes him through it, pulls John down to lay on his chest again, trails his hand up and down John’s back, even after John stops shivering and starts laying kisses along Cam’s jaw. He starts to move again but Cam stops him. “It’s fine, John,” he tries to say. “Stop. You don’t have to.”

There’s something almost victorious in John’s voice when he responds. “I know,” he says, right into Cam’s ear, and he keeps moving just so until Cam thrusts up sharply and comes.

They clean up and crawl back into bed, John almost clinging to Cam beneath the thick comforter, and Cam doesn’t stop kissing John’s face until John’s asleep, doesn’t stop running his hands through John’s hair until he drifts off himself.

When Cam wakes, John is wrapped almost entirely around his body, locking them together. Cam returns his hand to John’s hair, absently stroking through it as his mind starts to race.

“Stop thinking so hard,” John mumbles into his shoulder. “I’m trying to dream.”

Cam grins. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not,” John yawns, tilting his head forward until his mouth brushes the top of Cam’s shoulder. “Good morning.”

“Good afternoon, more like,” Cam responds. Then, because it’s best to be blunt with John: “Why did you want to have sex with me earlier?”

John half-snorts. “You’ve seen you, right? I mean, I know you own a mirror-”

“John.”

There’s silence for a minute. “It’s – I have these memories,” John says slowly, like he’s not sure which words to use. “Him. Everything connected to sex, it’s all him in my head, and I just want him out.” He pauses again. “This time, last time, now I have something else to think about. Something better.”

“John,” Cam says, because he doesn’t know how else to respond to that. He wraps his arm around the other man, pulling them closer together, and he buries his head in John’s hair. “I’m not sure this is a good idea,” he admits out loud.

John shifts against him and speaks warily. “What?”

“Falling for you,” Cam tells him.

There’s blanket silence in the room for a long moment. Finally, John breaks it. “Because I’m so fucked up.”

“No,” Cam says. “Because of why you’re here. Because when they think you’re better, you’re going to disappear back into the bowels of whatever hell you came here from.”

John’s quiet against him. “I’ll break again,” he says, absolute certainty in his voice. “I can’t – Cam, I don’t think I can do this on my own.”

They just lay together for a long time, thinking their own thoughts, and it’s only after they’ve climbed from the bed and showered and are eating dinner in the living room that Cam realizes it’s the first time John has called him by his name.

They’re in the same exact positions that they were in before when John speaks. “You want to talk about Russell.”

Cam is almost expecting it this time, thinks he knows how to respond. “Can you?”

John shifts closer to him on the couch. “I didn’t know who he was,” he starts. “He just – he was this guy, and I’d seen him around before, I guess, in the mess hall or the elevator or something. And he poked his head in and just started chatting with me. He was really friendly.” He smiles bitterly. “They’re always friendly.”

Cam lays his hand in the space between them, a silent offering, and John doesn’t hesitate to take it, slipping his hand into Cam’s and holding tightly. “He kept walking into the room, towards your desk, and I thought it was a little weird but I didn’t say anything. And then he grabbed something from your desk and it hurt like fuck, everything hurt so much, and he showed me the remote and told me to kneel for him like I did for you.” He sucks in a breath and closes his eyes. “I told him I didn’t kneel for anyone and he gave me this weird look, and then I was kneeling on the floor, doing everything he told me to do.”

Cam’s anger at Russell suddenly flares back into high gear, and he wants the chance to exact his revenge. It’s a chance he knows he’ll probably never get, but it doesn’t mean he won’t hope for it.

“The worst part isn’t that the remote makes you do it,” John continues softly. “It’s that it makes you think you want to do it, like it was your idea, like it’s all you need to do in life.”

Cam knows this. It’s conditioning, sort of, because if a Trainer uses the remote when working on following orders, the Trainee gets the point more quickly, is more likely to follow orders without the use of the remote in the future. It’s a little off-putting to Cam’s tastes, which is why he told John he didn’t want to use the remote in the first place. Carrying it, though, that’s required, it’s part of the program, which is why he’d had it with him at all. If it were up to him, he’d just lock the damn thing away.

“I’m sorry,” he says to John. “I shouldn’t have left the remote just sitting on – I’m so sorry, John.”

John shakes his head. “Don’t,” he says firmly, and it’s bizarre that John should be comforting him in any way, especially about this. “It’s done, it’s over.”

“It’s done,” Cam responds. “It’s not over.”

John doesn’t have a response for that, Cam assumes, because he just gives that half-smile and goes back to his story. “I don’t know how long he was there,” John tells him. “It might have only been a few minutes before you got back. It might have been an hour. You kind of lose it when the button’s pushed. You’re in this weird headspace, like you’re floating, like everything’s okay as long as you keep doing what you‘re supposed to be doing. But all of a sudden he wasn’t there any more, and all I could think about was how I had to get back to him, how I had to just keep-”

John’s voice trails off, and when Cam glances over John’s lips are pressed tightly together, like he’s trying to keep the words in. Cam tugs on John’s hand, which is grasping his own in a vice grip.

“Hey,” Cam says softly. John slides the rest of the distance between them and lays their joined hands on Cam’s thigh.

“And then you were there,” John says quietly. “And I didn’t feel like I had to do anything except get the taste of him out of my mouth.”

Cam turns until he’s facing John and unlinks their hands so he can brush his fingers along John’s face. “Thank you for telling me.” It’s the only thing he can think to say.

“Yeah,” John replies, sagging into him a little. Cam wraps his arm around John’s shoulders and tugs until John slides in against him. “No more soul-baring, okay?”

Cam chuckles. “I’ll do my best.”

They don’t do anything of real importance for the rest of the night, or most of the next day. They watch football and they eat, a combination of takeout and Cam’s cooking and John’s oatmeal, and they have sex again. They don’t talk about work and they don’t talk about Russell or the general or anything that could be considered soul-baring. Instead, they pass the time talking about their families, their childhoods, previous postings, their love for flying. Cam promises to take John up in an F-302, smiling at the wild grin it causes on John’s features.

Then they return to reading files and mission reports. John throws himself into it, starting with the full collection of SG-1’s reports since the inception of the program, working his way through from Ra to the Battle of Antarctica without asking many questions. Cam can tell when he gets to the part of the battle that Cam doesn’t like to think about, because his face twists as he puts the file on the table.

“You almost died,” John says.

“Yeah.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah,” Cam agrees.

John doesn’t ask him for details, doesn’t ask about reconstructive surgery or hip replacements or physical therapy. He just shakes his head and asks, “This guy’s dead?”

And Cam gets it, knows for certain that John’s where he is, and a part of him relaxes as he replies. “Close enough to.”

John nods and dives back into mission reports. And so it goes, Cam thinks, going back to his own work.

It goes on like this for a while, for days that turn to weeks, to a few months. They read and eat and have sex and talk and watch football, and it’s so normal, so everyday, so much everything. John slowly heals. There are still moments where he freezes, still times when Cam knows he’s not entirely here, but they get fewer and farther between as time goes on. There’s only so far he’s going to recover, after all, and they both know it.

John finishes with SG-1’s reports and asks for those from Cam’s own team, so he drives into the Mountain one day and gets the copies made. It’s been a long time since he’s been here, he thinks as he climbs in the elevator with his boxes of paper. He’s trying to jab at a button without much success when someone else slides into the cab, just as the doors are closing.

“Cam?”

Cam manages to tilt his head in the general direction of the voice. “Hey, Sam. What’s beans?”

Sam grins and hits the button for the surface as well as for her floor, and Cam returns the smile. “Been a while.”

“Yeah,” Cam says, because it’s obvious and silly but it’s true.

“How is he?” Sam asks quietly as the elevator rises steadily. Cam closes his eyes and wishes he could shrug with all the papers in his hands.

“Better,” he allows. “There’s only so good it’s going to get, Sam, but we’re trying. Some days I think it’s even working.” Sam doesn’t respond, and Cam manages to rest the boxes on the handrail of the cab and glance at her face. She’s wearing a thoughtful expression, tilting her head as she studies him. “What?”

Sam sighs. “You fell in love with him,” she says softly, almost to herself. “Oh, Cam.”

He hadn’t thought it was that obvious, but then Sam’s always been good at reading him and anyway, it’s not like he’s ashamed of it. “Yeah.”

She’s silent again, and Cam tries hard not to be nervous about what she might be thinking. Sam’s opinion means a lot more to him than most. Finally, she asks, “Are you happy?”

“Yeah,” Cam responds before he can even fully process the question, the truth spilling from his mouth before his brain has a chance to block it. He flushes a little as Sam smiles at him.

“Good,” Sam says, just as the doors slide open. “That’s good, Cam.” She leaves without explaining, and the doors slide shut again as the elevator rises to the surface, leaving Cam alone with his thoughts.

John tears his way through the new mission reports with the same fervor as he had the old ones, only with more questions. Cam answers them all with as much detail as he can, because John’s actually interested in what he’s saying. Finally, though, John makes his way through all of those, too. He sits in the living room after lunch and watches as Cam reads through mission proposals and sorts them into “possible” and “unlikely.”

“You miss it.” It’s a statement, not a question, so Cam just nods his affirmation. Yeah, he misses going through the Gate, and he’s been away from it for longer than he imagined he would be when John first arrived, but he’s not going back to it until John’s better.

John keeps his eyes trained on Cam as Cam continues to work, frowning at something with Dr. Miskin’s energetic signature on it before deciding that no, that one isn’t going into the possible pile. He lets Cam finish his stack of papers before speaking again. “I think it’s time, Cam.”

“Time?” Cam swivels to glance at the wall clock, then tries to reconcile it with plans they might have made and comes up empty. John smiles at him like only John does and shakes his head.

“Call Disciplinary,” he says, tossing the phone to Cam. “I’m ready. It’s time.”

Cam holds the phone for a minute, just staring at it, because he’s known that John’s as better as he’s going to get for two weeks now, and he suspects that John’s known it too. Calling Disciplinary means another Hearing, though, and the very real possibility that John will be sent back to the Middle East, away from the SGC and Colorado Springs and Cam.

Cam takes a deep breath and sets the phone on the table, rising and walking to stand in front of John. “Tomorrow,” he says, pulling John to his feet and walking down the hall with him. “I’ll call them tomorrow.”

He does, too, when he and John wake up the next day, though he doesn’t want to. He considers it, really thinks about not making the call yet, about pushing it off another few days, maybe a week. There’s no schedule on these things, after all, no check-ins, nobody calling or dropping by to see if John’s making progress. It’s like John can tell, though, and he presses the phone into Cam’s hand and leans in to brush their lips together.

“Call,” he says. “You know it’s time.”

“Yeah,” Cam responds, because he does.

The call is surprisingly perfunctory, short and to the point. John’s Reinstatement Hearing is set up for three days from now, and when Cam hangs up the phone, John looks at him expectantly.

“Three days,” he relays. “In Washington.”

John nods, and the expression on his face is calm as he picks the phone back up. He tilts his head to the side. “Can we get a few days off?”

Landry doesn’t have a problem with it, and Cam suspects that it’s partly because his team is surviving well enough without him, and partly that the general has been able to foist a lot of his paperwork onto Cam for the last few months and he’s a bit grateful for it. He tries not to overthink it, because he gets himself and John cleared for the next week, and they put the files back into their boxes and stack them near the door before heading back to the bedroom. This is going to be over soon; Cam will be back in the Mountain, and the files won’t need to be here any more.

The next two days are slow and gentle. There’s a lot of touching and kissing, sleeping curled into each other, long mornings and showers together and waffles in the kitchen. There’s nothing desperate about it, nothing to hint that there’s a very strong possibility that it might be their last chance to be together like this. Cam recalls John telling him, months ago, that he was replacing his old memories with better ones; he thinks now that he’s trying to make new ones entirely, that he’s trying to create something to remember.

Cam finds that he’s doing the same thing.

The Hearing is scheduled for Friday afternoon at 1500, and Cam is the one fidgeting as they walk into Headquarters at 1400. The building is ugly, short and squat, and it’s darker inside than Cam remembers it being. He hasn’t been here in years, though, not since he finished his instruction as a Fourth, so it could just be time playing tricks on his memory.

The receptionist is the same woman that Cam’s talked to on the phone a few times now, perky and overly pleasant. She takes Cam’s identification and registration and she doesn’t glance at John, not even once. Cam does his best not to care, because that’s how this works, but it’s difficult. They’re directed to Conference Room Three, and they make their way down the hall quickly enough. Nobody else is here yet.

The room is almost square, and the only furniture is a big conference table and a bunch of chairs. Cam sits in one of the chairs and flips through the folder he brought, detailing John’s progress, in a way. It says a lot about respect and following commands and saluting, but nothing about how John can sleep in the same room as someone else without curling into himself, nothing about how he’s learned to make pancakes and sausage and waffles, nothing about how his nightmares have all but stopped. It has all of the information that the Committee will want to hear, and none of what’s important to know about John.

“It’s going to be fine,” John murmurs from the chair beside him, and Cam can only smile, because that’s supposed to be his line.

“Yeah,” Cam replies. “I’m just hoping they don’t send you back there.”

John’s eyes cloud, because that’s what they’re both afraid of, really. John’s better, but he’s not back to good, and he likely won’t ever get there. There’s always going to be that residual fear and distrust in him, but Cam helps him temper it, gives him a way to access the world that he wouldn’t otherwise have. Sending John away will break Cam’s heart, sure, but it will break John’s mind.

“Yeah,” John agrees. “You and me both.”

Cam smiles at him, trying to be reassuring, and he’s just opened his mouth to joke around, maybe lighten the mood a little, when all the color drains from John’s face. He’s staring to Cam’s left, and Cam turns his head to see John’s gaze directed out the door to the hallway beyond. There’s nobody there that he can see. He turns back to John, whose breathing has gone shallow. His hands are clenched on the edge of the table so hard that they’ve turned white, and his eyes are wide and panicked in a way that they haven’t been in months.

“John?” Cam asks, bewildered, and John flinches and pulls back when Cam reaches out to touch his wrist. Cam ignores the twisting in his gut and grabs John’s face, forcing John to look him in the eye. “You’re here,” he says firmly but softly. “I’m here, John. You’re safe.”

Slowly, John’s eyes focus, and his grip on the table lessens. Cam sees his hands shaking badly as he slides them from the table into his lap. “He’s here,” John croaks out. “I just – he was walking down the hall – that way – he didn’t – Cam,” he says, and it’s like the past few months haven’t happened, like Cam hasn’t been able to help John at all, except he leans into Cam rather than away from him. Cam wraps his arms around John’s back and tries to temper the urge to run in the direction John had indicated and kill whoever’s behind the door with his bare hands.

“Okay,” Cam says finally, leaning back as the first members of the Committee begin to file in. He gestures for one of them to come over, an older woman he knew while he was in classes here. “John, listen to me.” John’s eyes snap to his. “This is Mrs. Kinney. She’s going to stay with you while I go have a chat with someone, okay?”

Mrs. Kinney frowns at him. “Trainer Mitchell-”

“Don’t let anyone go near him,” Cam tells her, infusing the words with every ounce of command he can find. “Not a soul, not until I get back here. Understood?”

Mrs. Kinney blinks at him, her mouth hanging open a bit. Cam shakes his head at her and very carefully doesn’t yell as he repeats himself. Finally, she nods, and Cam stalks out the door.

There’s only one more room down this hallway, and Cam takes a deep breath and focuses as he opens the door. The lights are off, but he can see someone sitting down at the end of the table, shuffling through a stack of papers, unconcerned. Cam flips the lights on and the man looks up, startled. Cam can almost hear all of the puzzle pieces slide into place as he smiles coldly. “General.”

“Colonel Mitchell,” Dobbs says, clearly surprised. “How have you been, son?”

“Good,” Cam says, walking slowly towards him, wondering at the man’s seeming inability to gauge Cam’s mood. “In town for a Hearing.”

“Oh, right, right,” Dobbs says with a smile. “You had that Major, the one from Afghanistan. He’s ready?”

“Yeah,” Cam says. “It took some doing to get him through everything, you know, but he’s a lot better now than he was.”

“Good,” Dobbs says absently. He seems to notice for the first time how close Cam is to him, the ice pouring from every inch of Cam’s being. “Something wrong, son?”

Cam’s hand jerks away from his body and catches Dobbs’ wrist before the older man has time to react. He yanks Dobbs from his seat and twists the hand he’s holding up, pinning it behind the general’s back in a move that he knows from personal experience is rather painful. “You could say that. Sir.”

The knowledge that he’s been caught flashes across his face almost too quickly before a look of angry defiance settles there. “Get your hands off me,” Dobbs snarls, but Cam’s thin-lipped smile is the only response he gets as Cam leads him none-too-gently from the room, back towards Conference Room Three.

John lets out a low moan when Cam marches Dobbs in and shoves him into a chair on the other side of the table. Dobbs tries to stand, but Cam slams a hand into his shoulder, forcing him back down. There’s a strange smile on his face, an almost manic fire in his expression as he studies the general.

Cam keeps his hand on Dobbs’ shoulder as he turns to face the Committee. “Ladies and gentlemen,” he begins, and his voice sounds unnaturally calm to his own ears. “Colonel Cameron Mitchell, Fourth Trainer, recently responsible for the Assignment and Training of Major John Sheppard.” The Committee members are all staring at him, and he hears Mrs. Kinney speak from the back of the room.

“Trainer Mitchell, would you mind explaining what, exactly, you’re doing?”

Cam turns a blinding smile towards where she sits, still beside John, at the far end of the room. “I’m giving a little back story,” he says. “Major Sheppard was delivered into my care after disobeying a direct order in a combat situation. In hindsight, I’d say that the orders he received were pretty damn stupid anyway, and I’d have disobeyed them too, but that’s neither here nor there.”

He can hear the sharp intakes of breath from the gathered members of the Committee, and he turns his attention back to them. “However, since beginning this Assignment, I’ve learned a few things about Major Sheppard that aren’t in his service record, and I feel that the Committee should hear about a few incidents that would be considered mitigating factors in his Assignment in the first place.” Cam digs his fingers into Dobbs’ shoulder, and he can see the other man wince. It’s possibly the most gratifying thing he’s ever witnessed.

“Proceed,” the head of the Committee, a man he doesn’t know, says in a cautious tone. Cam lets go of Dobbs’ shoulder and pins him to the chair with a glare. Dobbs won’t dare leave now, Cam knows. He knows what he’s about to be accused of, and he’ll want the chance to defend himself.

Cam makes his way to the back of the room and crouches next to John’s chair. John is making a visible effort to remain calm, but his face is pale and there are beads of sweat around his hairline. His eyes keep flicking to where Dobbs is seated at the front of the room. Cam takes John’s hands in his own. “Hey,” he says gently. “With me?”

John nods, his eyes focusing intently on Cam’s. “Please,” he says, and Cam hears it again, the pain and fear and worry they’ve tried so hard to get past since John arrived. Cam nods and releases one of John’s hands. He grabs something from his pocket and John sucks in a breath when he sees it, closing his eyes and gripping Cam’s hand more tightly in his own.

“I’m sorry, John,” Cam says, squeezing back. “I can’t think of any other way to-”

John leans his forehead against Cam’s and takes a deep breath. “Do it,” he says softly. “Do it, Cam.”

Cam squeezes John’s hand once more before dropping it and standing. He opens his palm, displaying the remote, and presses the orange button until it flashes to red. John’s eyes go distant, and the tension drains from his shoulders. Cam recalls him talking about the feeling, that the collar makes it seem like obeying is a reward in itself. “Stand up, Major, and face the Committee,” Cam tells him, and John does exactly as ordered, standing at parade rest.

“Answer all of my questions with the truth, Major.” Cam points at Dobbs, who is sitting in his chair, looking panicked and slightly ill. “Do you know that man?”

“Yeah,” John says, his eyes wandering to Dobbs before settling on Cam’s face. “I don’t know his name, but we’ve met.”

“When did you meet?”

“Two years ago,” John responds. “In Afghanistan.”

Cam goes through what John had told him about in painstaking, excruciating detail. It’s harder on Cam than it is on John, this time, because John has the veil of the collar’s effects around him, while Cam has to hear the events replayed again in John’s neutral tone, in more agonizing detail than he’d heard before. Cam moves through everything, from the first encounter John had described to the repeated assaults to Dobbs’ own hand in John’s Assignment, his refusal to let John transfer to a lesser type of Training. When they’re finished, Cam says, “Thank you, Major. Sit,” as steadily as he can. John does so placidly, folding his hands on the tabletop. Cam sets the remote on the table in front of John. The bottom button is still lit red.

Cam doesn’t say anything else. He looks each Committee member in the eyes, starting with the leader and ending with Mrs. Kinney, who’s still sitting beside John, an expression of shock and horror on her face. “Thank you,” he says to her finally. “You can go back with the rest of them now.”

He watches while Mrs. Kinney makes her way up to the front of the room as he sits beside John, playing with the remote. John is still sitting perfectly, his hands folded just so, and Cam waits, waits.

Finally, the head Committee member speaks. “General Dobbs. Would you care to respond?”

Dobbs shakes his head minutely. There’s no use denying anything. It’s impossible to do anything other than what you’re ordered to do under the influence of the collar; John had told the absolute, utter truth. Everyone in the room knows it.

“Very well,” the man replies. “We’ll need to take a recess. I’m sure you understand,” and he directs this last part at Cam, who nods. The man stands and leaves the room, and the Committee members file out after him, until the only people in the room are Cam, John, and Dobbs, who seems almost stuck in his chair.

Cam carefully positions himself between John and Dobbs, blocking John’s line of sight, before he presses the button to release John from the collar’s influence. John gasps and slumps forward into Cam, instantly grasping at his shirt. Cam brings his arms around John, holding him tightly, whispering into his hair. “It’s okay. I’m here. It’s over.”

They sit together while the security team comes in. They can both hear the handcuffs snap into place, but neither man turns as Dobbs is led from the room. He doesn’t matter any more. It’s over.

The Committee members eventually file back into the room and Cam reluctantly lets go of John as he slides back into his own seat. The head Committee member stands while the rest of them sit, and he addresses Cam, turning to him formally. “Trainer Mitchell, this Committee thanks you for your service and your report. After hearing the testimony presented today, we have agreed that the Disciplinary Committee made a mistake in their original Assignment of Major Sheppard.” At this, he turns to John, who grasps Cam’s hand tightly under the table. “Major, please accept our sincerest apologies for not recognizing the facts of the situation when they were first presented to us.”

John just nods. Cam rubs his thumb across the back of John’s hand.

“It is the opinion of this Committee that Major Sheppard’s actions, while in direct defiance of a given order, are forgivable under the circumstances. Major Sheppard, you are formally released from your Assignment.” The man hands Cam a thin rod, and Cam touches it to the collar that’s been a part of John for the past few months. There’s a tiny clicking sound and the collar opens in the front. Cam opens it gently, taking it from John’s neck, and John touches at the exposed skin, grinning wildly at Cam, who can’t help but grin back.

“Furthermore,” the man continues, “this Committee would like to make reparations to Major Sheppard on the behalf of the Disciplinary Committee of the Military Board of the United States of America.”

John blinks as he turns to Cam, who shakes his head. He has no idea what’s going on; he expected John to be cleared, but he’s never heard of the Board wanting to make amends for anything in the past. Although, Cam thinks, they’ve probably never fucked up as badly in the past as they have this time.

The man sets a folder on the top of the table. “These are reassignment forms for you, Major. Wherever it is that you want to go, we’ll do our best to get you there.”

Cam sits in stunned silence, watching the emotions pass over John’s features, disbelief approval respect hope, before he reaches out to take the file. He opens it slowly and reads through the top page in a glance. He looks over at Cam and nods. It’s true.

John tosses the folder back across the table. “Stargate Command,” he says resolutely. “I’ve been stationed there throughout my Assignment. I’d like to think I fit in pretty well by now.”

Cam snorts and grins, and John shoots him a mock-wounded glare. “I’ll sponsor him,” Cam volunteers, grabbing for the folder again. There are forms to be filled out, signatures to obtain, but Cam isn’t worried. Landry’s going to have a minor heart attack, but he’ll sign the papers.

The man is nodding. “Very well,” he says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s dismiss, then.”

Most of the Committee members make their way over to John after the announcement, muttering apologies or congratulating him on his reassignment. John nods, not really listening to them; he’s got a pen in his hand, and he’s filling out the forms in the packet as quickly as he can. He occasionally looks up to grin at Cam, who’s taking the papers as John finishes them, reading them over, and adding his own signature to the bottom of each. The room empties as John makes his way through the rest of the file, and they’re the only two left by the time John puts the stack of pages back into the folder.

“Ready?” Cam offers as he stands. John grins up at him from his chair.

“Yeah,” he says simply, picking the folder up as he rises to meet Cam. He suddenly grabs Cam around the waist and pulls himself close, burying his face in Cam’s shoulder. Cam responds almost automatically, leaning his face into John’s hair and wrapping his arms around John’s shoulders.

“It’s over,” Cam says into John’s hair. “It’s over and you don’t have to go back to Afghanistan. You get to transfer to Colorado Springs.”

“No,” John says as he pulls back, smiling. His eyes fall closed as he leans in close to Cam, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “I get to go home.”

**Author's Note:**

> There's a lot of thanking to do here, mostly to stormylullabye and clwilson2006, who held my hand through this and prodded me for more and proofread and put up with me changing just about every detail along the way at least twice. Thanks, ladies, because without you this would still be floating in my head somewhere, probably never to be seen.


End file.
